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This book is due at the WALTER R. DAVIS LIBRARY on 
the last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it 
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Form No. 513. 

Dante Gabriel Rossetti 

VOL. 11. 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2012 with funding from 

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hil 

By D. C. Rossetti. 

Frances M. L. Rossetti. 


Dante Gabriel Rossetti 











Letters A. — To Charlotte Lydia Polidori -.^pp. 3, 4, 34, 35, 36, 37, 
46, 82, 86, 91, 100-2-10-32-4-6-43-4-8-50-1-9-74-85, 227-37, 315-26-30. 

Letters B. — To Frances Mary Lavinia Rossetti :— ^/. 5, 10, 12, 16, 
19. 30, 32, 43. 85, 97, 99. 101-6-7-8-1 1-6-26-37-43-7-53-5-8-60-5-8-9-70, 
172-3-7-9-81-4-5-7-9-92-3-7, 200-1-6-23-4-6-8-30- 1-4-7-40-50-5-63-7 1 -83, 
287-9-9 1-4-6, 300-3-7-8- 1 1 .3-5-7-9-20- 1 -4-7-9-3 1 -3-6-7-8-43-4-7-9-50- 1 . 
3 52-5-7-8-60-2-4- 5-7-7 1 -7-9-8 r - 5-6-7-9-90- 1 . 

Letters C. — To William Michael Rossetti :— /^. 7, 23, 27, 31, 39, 40, 
44, 48, 52. 54, 55' 60, 62,71, 83, 90, 92, 93, 94, 97, 98, 103-4-25-7-8-30, 
131-5-6-45-6-8-52-4.5-7-8-61-4-6-8-9-7 1-3-6-8-92-3-4-5-6-9, 204-7-1 1-3, 
214-8-20-1-2-8-9-30-2-3-6-45-7-8-9-5 1-2-4-6-8-9-61-2-4-5-6-7-9-70-2-3 - 4, 
275-6-7-8-9-80-2-6-90-3-5-9, 300-1-2-5-6-9-13-4-5-6-7-8-21-5-32-44-5-6, 
347-8-9-54-5-6-7-9-60-3-4-8-9-7 1 -6-7-9-80- 1 -2-7-8-90-3 . 

Letter D. — To Gaetano Polidori /. 20 

Letters E. — To Gabriele Rossetti , . . pp, 22, 26, 114-22 

Letters F. — To Christina Georgina Rossetti: — pp.%2, 95, 1 19-62-3, 
171-83, 224, 322-37-53-61-7-83-6-92-4-5. 

Letters G. — To Henry Francis Polydore . . pp. i8r, 243, 340-2 

Letters H. — To Lucv Madox Rossetti . pp. 310-2-39-56-66-9-70-2-3 

/ey2Yrt -A 548881 



I. Frances M. L. Rossetti (Polidori), 1854. By 

D. G. Rossetti Frontispiece 

II. Facsimile of D. G. Rossetti's Handwriting . . After p. viii 

III. William M. Rossetti, 1847. By the Same . . To face p. 39 

IV. Charlotte L. Polidori, 1853. By the Same . „ 117 
V. Henry F. Polydore, 1855. By the Same , . „ 181 

VI. Lucy M. Rossetti (Brown), 1874. By the Same. ,, 312 

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Vol. II. 

Page 3, line i,for fifteenth read fourteenth 
„ 34 „ 14, after may have been add the most probable is Theodore von Hoist 
,. S3 )) 1° from bottom, aftcy grave add . 
„ ,, ,, 8 from bottom, /or that rearf the 
,, 56 ,, \, after day add . 
)) 57 I) 7, /or nearly rcarf merely 
,, 73 „ \, after this add — 
,, 77 ,, iS, after strong add ; 

„ 104 „ 10 from bottom, /or then I think already read soon afterwards 
,, 123, head-line, /or 1853 read 1854 

„ 183, line last, for I have not any distinct idea read it was probably one named 
Husband and Wife 

„ 184 ,, 16, /or ead r^nrf dead 

„ iBs „ s, after Christina add (but there was a crayon-head in September 1866) 

„ 188 ,, \T, after Beatrice dele ; 

„ 210 ,, last, /or phras rear/ phrase 

,, 272 ,, 8 from bottom, 6(/ortf 99 nrfrf C 

„ 274 ,, 9 from bottom, /or o. renrf of 

„ 287 ,, 8, before Letter of 27 March 1873 add B 63 

„ 302 „ 10, for iSg2 read iSg3 

I) 352 )i s from bottom, /or 564 rcnrf 344 

,, 380 ,, 1, after add . 

,, 391 head-line,/or 1881 read 1882 




As in a gravegarth, count to see 
The monuments of memory. 

VOL. n. 


A I. 

My brother, when he wrote this note, was in the fifteenth year 
of his age. My only object in preserving so boyish an affair is to 
show that he was then already exercising himself in drawing in a 
sort of way. 

The " Bazaar " must have been patronized (I take it) by the family 
of the Earl of Wicklow, in which our aunt. Miss Charlotte Lydia 
Polidori, was then a governess. A " harp " could not now be copied 
off a " halfpenny " ; but Irish halfpence bearing this device were at 
that time in frequent circulation in London. 

Our aunt died in January 1890, at the great age of eighty -seven. 
She was a person of uncommon equanimity and amenity — none 
more so within my experience— and was an agreeable talker, though 
without marked intellectual gift. For unselfish complaisance she 
might be reckoned a model. 

Only one letter from Gabriel earlier than this is in my possession. 
It is dated 10 January 1836, and is addressed to our Father. It is 
of course mere childishness. I ought not to thrust it upon the 
reader, and I shall not. 

[50 Charlotte Street, Portland Place, London.] 
I February 1842. 

My dear Aunt Charlotte, 

I send you twelve drawings for the Bazaar, which I 
hope will not arrive too late for admission. Julian Peveril, 
the Turk, the Pygmy, the Brigand, Barnaby Rudge, the 
Butterfly, the Huntsman, the Harp, and the Shamrock, are 



copies. Quentin Durvvard, the Highlander, and the Dandy, 
are originals. The Huntsman and the Highlander are in- 
tended for Fitzjames and Roderick Dhu, from The Lady of 
the Lake. 

I should have drawn some more, for I have remaining three 
cards and two pieces of cardboard ; but I was fearful that 
they should reach you too late. 

I hope that, should you answer this letter, you will favour 
me with a " full, true, and particular account " of the proceed- 
ings, how many and which of my drawings were sold, and the 
price which they fetched. 

Having nothing more to say, I remain. 
My dear Aunt Charlotte, 

Your affectionate Nephew, 

Gabriel C. Rossetti. 

P.S. — The Harp (but this is a strict secret) is copied off a 

A 2. 

In this letter my brother copied out the whole of Walter Scott's 
poem. I have omitted all except the first stanza. His coloured 
drawing of The Cavalier is still extant. 

A music-master (a family friend, Signor Rovedino) was eventually 
called in for our elder sister Maria, whose destined career was that 
of a governess or teacher. She had a very fine voice and elocution 
in speaking, which might have developed into a good contralto voice 
in singing ; but she (like all the family except our Father) had little 
musical aptitude, and never did anything in that way. 

[so Charlotte Street.] 

Thwsday 2 June 1842. 

My dear Aunt Charlotte, 

Perhaps you remember that, one day when you were 
admiring the drawings which I sent to the Bazaar, 1 said that 
I would draw you one. In fulfilment of this promise I send 
you the accompanying figure, hoping that it will meet with 
your approbation. It is pronounced by every one to be the 


best figure I have ever drawn, and I trust that such will also 
be your opinion. It is intended as an illustration of the 
following verses by Sir Walter Scott : — 

The Cavalier. 

"While the dawn on the mountain was misty and grey 
My true love has mounted his steed and away: 
Over hill, over valley, o'er dale and o'er down, 
Heaven shield the brave gallant that fights for the Crown ! " 
* * * * * * 

p.S. — Mamma sends you her love, and wishes me to tell 
you that she has just been talking to Papa of procuring a 
music-master for Maria, and that he says he will see about it (?). 

P.P.S. — The figure is entirely original. 

B I. 

This letter must have been written about the time when my 
brother, had he returned to King's College School after the summer 
vacation of 1842, would have been wending thither; but, instead 
of that, he rehnquished ordinary school attendance, and began 
studying for the profession of painting. He had now just gone to 
Chalfont-St. -Giles in Buckinghamshire, where our maternal uncle 
Mr. Henry Francis Polydore, whom he accompanied, had lately 
settled, to practise as a sohcitor. Chalfont was the village or 
townlet to which Milton retired during the plague of London. 
" Uncle Henry's Swearing-book " was the volume which some client 
of his had from time to time to kiss, in taking an oath. Our uncle 
— who had turned his surname of Polidori into the Anglicized form 
Polydore for professional convenience — died in January 1885 ; a 
very strict devout Roman Cathohc, and the most scrupulously 
conscientious of men — somewhat parsimonious (in proportion to his 
lifelong restricted means), and more than duly fidgeting to himself 
and others. He was a fairly diligent book-reader, without either 
ambition or aptitude towards authorship. 

Chalfont-St. -Giles. 
Thursday i September 1842. 

My dear Mamma, 

We arrived safely at Chalfont at 12 o'clock yesterday. 
The village is larger than I expected. The first thing we did 


on our arrival was to demolish some bread and butter, of 
which I at least was much in want. We then, with con- 
siderable difficulty, opened Uncle Henry's trunks, and, after 
depositing a part of their contents in a chest of drawers, we 
sallied forth to reconnoitre. I saw Milton's house, which is 
unquestionably the ugliest and dirtiest building in the whole 
village. It is now occupied by a tailor. ... 

Yesterday I commenced reading The InfideVs Doom, by 
Dr. Birch, which valuable work forms part and parcel of 
Uncle Henry's library. However, I have abandoned the task 
in despair. I then began The Castle of Otrajito, which shared 
the same fate, and am now engaged on Defoe's History of the 
Plague. This morning we deposited Uncle Henry's books 
(exclusive of the law books, which are in the parlour) in a 
closet in Uncle Henry's bedroom, which, in common with all 
the other closets in this house, possesses a lock but no key. 

I do not think that I shall go to church on Sunday, for in 
the first place I do not know where I can sit, and in the 
second place I find that we are so stared at wherever we go 
that I do not much relish the idea of sitting for two hours the 
lodestone of attraction in the very centre of the aborigines, 
on whose minds curiosity appears to have taken a firm 


I have just had some luncheon, of which however Uncle 
Henry did not partake, asserting that he was unwell, and 
would take some pills for his luncheon. Milk is an extremely 
rare article here ; so much so that it was with great difficulty 
that we obtained a pint this morning and half a pint 
yesterday, and it still remains in doubt whether we shall be 
able to procure half a pint this evening for tea. I " in longing 
expectation wait " the appearance of my dinner ; for which 
however I need not yet look, since it is now nearly 3 o'clock, 
which is the nominal dinner-hour, but, the fire having gone 
out, Uncle Henry prophesies that it will not come till 4. 
I remain, dear Mamma, 

Your affectionate Son, 

Gabriel Rossetti. 


P.S. — I intend to make, for Maria's accommodation, a 
sketch of the church, which I think pretty, but which Uncle 
Henry condemns as exceedingly flat and ugly. 

P.P.S. — I am sure that by this time you must be tormenting 
yourself because I forgot to take a Prayer-Book ; however, 
you may set your mind at rest on that subject, since Uncle 
Henry's Swearing-book combines both Bible and Prayer- 
Book, out of which I can read the Psalms and Lessons on 
Sunday in case I stay at home. 

C I. 

This letter is, so far as I know, the earliest that I ever received 
from my brother. I had now, succeeding him, left London to spend 
a few days with our uncle in Chalfont-St.-Giles. The opening 
observations, as to my discomforts with my uncle, will be rightly 
understood as mere "chaff." There was nothing to complain of in 
his modest (then bachelor) establishment. "A Philippic expres- 
sion " means an expression of our other uncle Philip Robert Polidori 
— -a rather odd not strong-witted person. My brother and I (for 
books, prints, etc., were then and for several years afterwards all in 
common between us) were at that time taking-in a serial edition of 
the Waverley Novels, and buying up prints to illustrate it — even, in 
some instances, prints which were not really intended for the 
Waverley Novels. About this period of his boyhood my brother's 
health was not strong, as is the case with so many growing boys. 
Reynolds was a good-humoured little print-seller on a small and 
dingy scale, close to St. Giles's Church, whose shop my brother and 
I haunted with spectral pertinacity for some years — spending pennies 
and sixpences as opportunity allowed. 

[50 Charlotte Street.] 
Wednesday evening, 28 December 1842. 

My dear William, 

I took up my pen, fully intending to commence by 
hoping that you found yourself comfortable at Chalfont-St.- 
Giles ; but I rejected the idea almost as soon as formed, for 
sad experience has taught me that over the portal of " the 


lawyer" (to make use of a Philippic expression) might well 
be inscribed, in the words of the poet, " All hope abandon, 
ye who enter here." I make no enquiries as to the particulars 
of your sufferings and agony both in the 7^ miles' walk 
to, and in the residence at, said Chalfont I do not ask how 
you relished the " odours of Edom " which emanate (at least 
according to Uncle Henry) from your downy couch. ... I 
do not, I say, ask all this, because I know that I shall have 
an opportunity of receiving answers to these enquiries, and as 
many more as I please to make, within a short time after you 
have perused this precious epistle. I would not mind staking 
any sum, if I had any sum to stake (for Heaven knows my 
Christmas-box has been long since landed safely on the classic 
shores of pot), that you and our mutual relative have ere this 
had recourse for amusement to the pages of Horace or Virgil. 
With the former the above-mentioned relative has disgusted 
me by constantly showing me that he does understand it, and 
then telling me that I do not. Of the latter we have my 
favourite poet's opinion — 

"That Virgil's songs are good, except that horrid one 
Beginning with Formosum pasto?' Corydoft." 

So said Byron — so say not I. The Eclogue which he seems 
to dislike is the very one by construing which from beginning 
to end (having learnt it at school in capacity of an imposition) 
I can defeat the malice of Uncle Henry when he defies me 
so to do. 

I have already told you that my Christmas-box has taken 
up its residence at pot. I will now proceed to acquaint you 
with the means by which it found its way to that "undi-s- 
covered country from whose bourne no traveller returns." 
To you probably this will be interesting news — to Uncle 
Henry it will be one continued nuisance. I well know his 
abhorrence of a long list of purchases. 

I will begin, then, with the prints I have bought for my 
Wavejdey Novels — viz., a proof of The Pass of Aberfoil — 
Stand, which you already know, and for which I gave ^d. ; 


Leslie's Charles and Lady Bellenden, and Mclvov and the Grey 
Spirit {\s. 6d. the couple) ; Sir W. Scott in his Study (4<^.) ; 
a splendid engraving of The Fortress, which I suppose to 
be the Fortress of Man in Peveril {6d.) ; Gilbert's Richard 
trampling on the Austrian Flag, which, on a second inspec- 
tion, I find to be not nearly so good as I expected, but which 
is nevertheless very good, like everything of Gilbert's (i<^.) 5 
and lastly, Warren's Escape, from the Protestant Annual, 
which I intend to introduce into The Pirate, and of which, 
as well as of The Widow Maclure's Son, plenty of copies are 
to be had at the Publisher's in Oxford Street. I have pur- 
chased a proof of The Shipwreck in Don Juan, which you 
already know, and which I got (at Palser's) for i.y., the original 
price being \s. 6d. ; also (at Reynolds's) a print of The 
Widow by Boxall (2d.) ; also a scene in the Merry Wives 
of Windsor, which I have put into my Shakespear (3<^.)- 
I have likewise procured 4 parts of the Shakespear itself I 
had almost forgotten to tell you of one more purchase which 
I have made — viz., A Shillingsworth of Nonsense, by the 
editors of Punch, which you have no doubt seen, and which 
is indeed a shillingsworth of the vilest twaddle that was ever 
written down. It possesses however one redeeming quality 
which, in my eyes at least, more than compensates for all 
its defects — it contains 48 splendid wood-engravings by Phiz. 
So much for every one of my purchases, so much for every 
farthing of my money, and so much for almost every syllable 
of my letter ; except that Mamma and all send you their 
loves, and that Dr. Locock, whom we visited again this 
morning, says that I must not recommence my studies till 
after New Year's Day ; and so 
Believe me. 

My dear William, 

Yours affectionately, 


P.S. — I forgot to tell you that, if you want to get splendid 
prints dirt-cheap, now's your time. Reynolds told mc 


he would have (to-morrow most probably) a set of Finden's 
engravings (either the Tableaux ox the series of Groups from 
Different Nations ; I believe the latter) for rather more than 
tJiree sliillings ! I intended to have bought them myself, 
only I found after I had bought the Shakespear that my 
pockets were a vacuum. 

B 2. 

When this letter was written our Mother was at Hastings, along 
with our Father, in an endeavour — for a long while fruitless — to cure 
him of a severe attack of bronchitis. 

No. 15 Park Village East, Regent's Park (now No. 30), was the 
residence of our grandfather Gaetano Polidori and his family. Our 
Uncle Henry had then abandoned Chalfont-St.-Giles, and was 
pursuing his profession at 15 Park Village East. The phrase about 
the " press of clients " sounds like and is irony. Mr. Leader is Mr. 
Charles Temple Leader, a Radical M.P. of those days, afterwards 
a conspicuous English resident in Florence. He is still alive, I think, 
at a great age, Sangiovanni had taken, from a natural bent of 
genius, to the modelling of picturesque clay figures — brigands, con- 
tadini, Albanians, etc. " The Cavaliere " was the Cavalier Mortara, 
an exceedingly frequent visitor at our parents' house — brother of 
a Conte Mortara, a bibliophile of some name. The " Signora 
Carlotta" means our aunt Miss Charlotte Polidori. 

50 Charlotte Street. 
Sunday 2 June 1843. 

My dear Mamma, 

" Better late than never," as the cat said to the kitten 
when the latter relinquished the Wellington boot in despair. 
And now, having sent preliminaries to pot in one pithy 
and well-concocted sentence, I shall proceed forthwith to 

Yesterday Aunt Margaret, William, and myself, betook 
ourselves in the afternoon to 15 Park Village East, having 
been thereunto invited. The first thing I did on my arrival 
was to enter the office of Uncle Henry. The air therein was 


however so suffocating, owing to the press of clients, that I 
effected a hasty retreat, leaving William to the full enjoyment 
of the black hole of Calcutta. I then proceeded to the 
parlour, where I dawdled about till teatime. ... 

I finished yesterday the first volume of Ten TJioiisand a 
Year, the commencement of which, as Aunt Margaret intends 
to testify in her next epistle, is very unpromising. As it 
proceeds however it becomes splendid ; and, having com- 
pleted the volume, I laid it down with the impression that 
it was equal to Dickens. To-morrow I hope to begin the 
second volume. William is also perusing Charles O'Malley, 
which he finds very entertaining. 

Dr. Heimann has called several times since your departure, 
and testifies great interest in Papa's health. He was here 
yesterday to give us our lesson. He intends to take us out 
with him, and will write a note to fix the day. He surveyed 
our libraries, and was glad to see that Maria possessed Keble, 
which he has read, and admires exceedingly (!) Mr. Leader 
called to-day ; and, on hearing that Papa was in the country, 
seemed pleased, and asked us for his address, which we gave 
him. The visits of enquiring friends since your disappearance 
have been so numerous that it would be impossible to 
remember them. Suffice it to say that all the " amici " small 
and great have been here. Sangiovanni says that he 
intends to write (!) The Cavaliere wishes that your corre- 
spondence was more voluminous, and says that the Signora 
Carlotta, having nothing else to do, should write letters ad 

I have. nearly finished studying the bones, and my next 
drawing will most probably be an anatomy-figure. 

Everybody at 15 Park Village East and at 50 Charlotte 
Street sends his or her love to everybody at 9 High Street, 
Hastings. And so, having nothing more to say, 
Believe me. 

My dear Mamma, 

Your affectionate Son, 

Gabriel Rossetti. 


B 3. 

Our Father, still in quest of health, had now gone to Paris with 
our Mother. The experiment, after a moderate interval of time, 
proved very satisfactory. 

I do not remember much now about "the Sketching Club" of 
which my brother speaks. It cannot have included any of the artist- 
students, predestined to renown, with whom he was afterwards 
closely associated. 

so Charlotte Street. 7 July 1843. 

My dear Mamma, 

On Monday last (the first day of opening) I visited 
the exhibition at Westminster Hall of the cartoons for deco- 
rating the New Houses of Parliament. When I say cartoons 
I mean of course the large drawings executed in chalks which 
are afterwards to be painted in fresco on the walls. It is 
indeed a splendid sight ; by far the most interesting exhibition 
in fact at which I have ever been, more so even than the 
Royal Academy. The tout ensemble on first entrance is most 
imposing. The figures are, almost without exception, as large 
as life, and in many instances considerably larger ; added to 
which Westminster Hall is of itself a most magnificent 
structure. The subjects are taken chiefly from English 
history, and a great part of them relate to the times of the 
ancient Britons and the introduction of Christianity, A full 
third of the exhibition (not to say more) is occupied by 
subjects from Milton. There are also a great many from 
Shakespear and Spenser, a few foreign subjects, and one or 
two national allegories. Scriptural subjects were I believe 
excluded ; however that may be, not one has made its 
appearance on the walls. The plan of the exhibition was 
as follows : Whatever cartoons were sent in (so long as they 
belonged to the class of subjects specified in the prospectuses — 
viz., history or some great English author) the Committee 
promised to exhibit them ; and, in proof of the strict manner 
in which they have kept their word, a quantity of abomina- 
tions have been hung up which are a disgrace to British Art, 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 843. 1 3 

and to exclude which it appears to me that the Committee 
should have deviated from the general rule. There is one 
especially, representing the signing of Magna Charta, which 
I am convinced must either be the work of some child of six 
or seven years old, or else that it must have been sent in by 
somebody for a joke, to prove to what lengths the Committee 
would go in keeping their engagement. But to return to the 
regulations. All the cartoons having been sent in and hung 
up in Westminster Hall, a day was set apart, previous to the 
exhibition being opened to the public, in order that the 
Committee, with Mr, Eastlake at their head, might take a 
private view, and decide upon those which were to receive 
the prizes. Accordingly on the day when I went, which was, 
as I have before stated, the first day of the exhibition, the 
fortunate competitors were already known. I forgot to say 
that it was one of the rules that every cartoon should be 
accompanied on sending in by the artist's name, but that 
only those of the successful candidates should be published 
in the printed catalogue. Thus I was only able to recognize 
a few of the rejected, either by the style being known to 
me or by the reports of others. The prizes are universally 
acknowledged to have been most justly awarded. There is 
only one which appears to me an exception to this rule, and 
this one is, I am sorry to say, no other than Mr. Severn's. 
The subject is Queen Elinor sucking the Poison front her 
Husband's Arm. It is almost completely wanting in expres- 
sion ; which can however scarcely be avoided, as the artist has 
been so injudicious as to choose the moment when Edward 
becomes insensible. The drawing is generally good, but this 
also is in some parts sadly defective. Mr. Cary has exhibited 
one, the subject of which is from Spenser. It possesses 
considerable merit, but not enough to receive a prize. 

I will now mention a few of those which particularly elicited 
my admiration. The three which are perhaps generally thought 
the most of are : The Landing of Julius Ccssar in Britain and 
his Opposition by tJie Natives^ by Armitage ; Caractacus led 
captive througli the Streets of Rome, by Watts ; and Boadicea 


addressing her Army before her last Battle with the Romans, by 
Selous. Among these, that which I like the best, and indeed 
more than any other in the exhibition, is the Caractacus, the 
artist of which, a young man by name Watts, has been, ever 
since he took to the arts, struggling with the greatest poverty. 
He is however as good as he is talented, and has been for 
many years, in spite of his miserable circumstances, the sole 
support of his mother. Good fortune has however found him 
out at last in the shape of a ^^300 prize, which will be 
followed by much greater remuneration as soon as his picture 
(of which, as I said before, the cartoon is but a rough sketch) 
shall have been painted. All this I learnt from one of the 
models who sat to him, and with whom he agreed that, if his 
cartoon gained a prize, he (Watts) would pay the model three 
times the usual sum, but that, if it was rejected, he should not 
be considered in any way his debtor, since it was utterly 
impossible that he should pay, owing to the wretched state 
of his finances. The model will now reap a rich harvest from 
the ^^"300 prize. 

I find that I have not room to dilate any further on the 
merits of the individual cartoons, as I had intended, and so 
I must finish with a few general remarks. Taken on the 
whole, this exhibition may be considered as a proof that High 
Art and high talent are not confined to the Continent. The 
common accusation brought against British painters cannot 
be brought forward here with any show of reason. The 
accusation to which I allude is that the English clothe their 
figures too much ; that they conceal their ignorance of 
anatomy by working up satin and jewels and cloth of gold 
to the highest state of finish ; and thus, by forcing the 
spectator as it were to admire these outside ornaments, cause 
him to overlook the want of correct drawing. Here, however, 
such artifices are utterly out of the question. In the first 
place, the absence of colour renders it impossible that such 
stratagems should be resorted to ; and in the second place, 
the subjects (principally taken from Milton and the early 
English history) make the naked figure positively necessary. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 843. I 5 

and thus cut off effectually any such means of escape. There 
is also another very gratifying feature in this exhibition. 
Almost all the successful competitors are young men who 
now appear for the first time before the public, thus directly 
giving the lie to the vile snarling assertion that British Art 
is slowly but surely falling, never more to rise. After the 
first fortnight (during which the price of admission is one 
shilling) the exhibition will be opened gratuitously — a step 
which, it is feared, will prove somewhat rash on the part of 
the Committee, as they have not an Italian public to deal with 
but an English one, 

I shall now relinquish this topic, fearing that I may perhaps 
have tired you, although it is so interesting to me that I can 
scarcely imagine that it is not equally so to everybody 
else. I will now proceed to what little other news I have 
in store. 

I have, since I wrote last, drawn some more bones, as well 
as an entire skeleton. I am now engaged on an outline of 
the Hercules. There have been two meetings of the Sketch- 
ing Club since your departure, for which I have made three 
drawings, one of which was the DeatJi of Marmion, and the 
other two were of the same subject — viz.. The old Soldier 
relating his battles to the Parson, from The Deserted Village. 
One of the two which I made for this subject is the most 
finished and perhaps the best pen-and-ink drawing which I 
have ever executed. I have given them both to the Cavaliere, 
who seemed to like them very much. The next subject is to 
be the Parting of two Lovers, unspecified and indefinite, which 
I intend to treat in several different manners, and to get up 
in prime style. 

I have just finished Ten Thousand a Year, which is indeed 
one of the most splendid works (not to say the most splendid) 
which I ever read. It is a most interesting story, and evi- 
dently written by a religious person. It relates almost 
entirely to a series of law proceedings (not, however, dry and 
disgusting ones), in which the author seems so much at home 
that I am convinced he must belong to the profession which 


has " proved a step-mother " to Uncle Henry. . . . Will you 
give my love to Papa with thanks for all his kind messages ? 
After which having no more to say, 
Believe me, 

My dear Mamma, 

Your affectionate Son, 

Gabriel C. D, Rossetti. 

To discuss the cost of an easel as a somewhat grave matter, and 
finally to price the article at five shillings, as in the ensuing letter, 
indicates (the reader may readily infer) that cash was not super- 
fluous in our household at this period. 

Pistrucci, from whom my brother adopted a design of the Death 
of Virginia, was Filippo Pistrucci, a painter and teacher of Italian. 
He was an intimate and peculiarly kind-hearted friend of our family. 
Another design here mentioned — Minotti firing the Train — is the 
only one of these early drawings of my brother which I remember 
with particularity. ' I cannot recall much about the Illustrated Scrap- 
book in which we all appear to have co-operated. But I recollect 
the Hodge-podge, which had been a still more juvenile attempt 
in the same line. My brother was certainly mistaken in thinking 
that the poems by Christina (then only twelve years of age) — Rosa- 
lind and Cory don's Resolution — were " very good." Rosalind is 
indisputably bad, and neither of these effusions found favour with 
our partial grandfather when he produced in 1847 a privately printed 
volume of Christina's Verses. Maria's Vision of Human Life seems 
to be the same thing as The Rivulets — a little religious allegory 
which she published in 1846. Ulfred the Saxon was a "Tale of the 
Conquest " which I began in my school-days. " Every one " must 
have been singularly weak-minded or mealy-mouthed in acknow- 
ledging any part of it to be " excellent." 

50 Charlotte Street. 
14 Angtcst 1843. 

My dear Mamma, 

We received this morning Papa's letter of the 12th, 
which caused us, as you may well imagine, the greatest 
pleasure. Dr. Heimann, however, who came to-day to give 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 843. 1 7 

US our lesson (not having been able to do so on Saturday), 
was much concerned on hearing of Papa's intention to leave 
Paris so soon, since he fears that a London winter may 
be productive of a relapse. He strongly recommended us 
on this account to prevent, if possible, so early a return. 
Dr. Heimann has manifested throughout a great interest 
in Papa's health. 

You wish me to inform you of my progress in drawing, 
and of the time at which I hope to become a student of the 
Academy. Upon the first point I answer that I have 
finished the outline of the Hercules, and drawn the anatomy- 
figure. I am now engaged on a finished drawing of the 
Antinous, which, supposing it to prove good enough, T may 
perhaps send in to the Academy. The next opportunity 
for so doing will be at Christmas, when I may probably try, 
though certainly not unless I feel sure of success, for a rejec- 
tion is a thing I should by no means relish. Besides this 
there are other matters to be attended to ; for, even granted 
that in the first instance I am admitted, still this is not all. 
Every successful candidate is required to execute a second 
drawing, in order to prove that the merit of the first is entirely 
his own. Added to which he must make drawings of the 
anatomy-figure and of the skeleton, in any of which if he 
fail he ceases to be a student ; and very few have the courage 
to venture on a second trial after the disgrace of a rejection. 
Having considered these things, I shall certainly decline 
making the attempt at Christmas unless by that time I shall 
be fully competent to the ordeal ; my knowledge of anatomy, 
in spite of my efforts at improvement, being at present less 
than imperfect. I intend to commence drawing at home 
from those casts which I possess, and thus endeavour to get 
into the" habit of working without assistance of any kind. 
For this purpose I shall want an easel, since I have lately 
been so accustomed to use one that I find it impossible now 
to draw otherwise. It is a thing that I must have sooner 
or later, and it is not so expensive as I supposed, since I 
find that a very decent one can be got for five shillings. 

VOL. IL 2 


The Sketching Club continues, and I derive great improve- 
ment from it. The subjects I have drawn since I last wrote 
to you are : The Parti?ig of Two {indefinite) Lovers, for which 
I made no less than six different drawings, which may perhaps 
take rank as my best sketches ; TJie Death of Virginia, which, 
being lazy, I am ashamed to confess I copied from Pistrucci ; 
and Orlando and Adam in the Forest, which I have prepared 
for the day after to-morrow, being the next club-day. It will 
then be my turn to propose the new subject, and I have fixed 
upon Minotti firing the Train from the Siege of Corinth. 

The Illustrated Scrap-book continues swimmingly. It im- 
proves with every number. Of the number on which William 
and myself are at present employed I am particularly proud. 
It contains some of my choicest specimens of sketching. 
Its pages are likewise adorned with two poetic effusions by 
Christina, the one entitled Rosalind and the other Corydoti's 
Resolution, both of which are very good, especially the 
latter, which elicited the warm admiration of Dr. Heimann. 
Maria has also authorized me to insert in the victorious 
Scrap-book her Vision of Human Life, originally written 
for the fallen Hodge-podge, the " weekly efforts " contained 
in which have I fear given their last gasp, since not a single 
perfect number has appeared since your departure. 

William has written an enormous quantity of Ulfred the 
Saxon, which increases in interest as it proceeds. His 
description of the battle of Hastings and death of Harold 
is acknowledged by every one to be excellent. 

I have not written anything new lately except a third 
chapter of Sorrentino; an unfortunate work, the tribulations 
whereof have been so many and so great that, if the appro- 
bation of others were the only encouragement to an author 
to continue his literary labours, the romance in question 
would long since have found its way behind the grate. The 
new chapter has not been more fortunate than its predecessors, 
since Maria eschews it and obstinately refuses to hear it, 
under the impression that it is " horrible." No one however 
pretends to deny that it is my chef-d'(xuvre, an opinion in 

tAMtLY-LETtERS — 1 843. Ip 

which I hope you will coincide after having perused it. The 
charge of indecency can no longer be laid upon the former 
portion with any show of reason, since I have purged and 
purified it most effectually, and burnt up the chaff with 
unquenchable fire. On the completion of this work I intend 
offering it to some publisher, for, defying all accusations of 
vanity and self-esteem, I cannot help considering that it is 
equal to very many of the senseless productions which daily 
issue from the press. 

I have finished reading Ernest Maltravers, which is indeed 
a splendid work. I also began Alice, or The Mysteries, but 
could get no further than the first two or three chapters, so 
stupid did I find it. As to the indecent books which you 
speak of in your last letter to me (and of which report I find 
that Aunt Margaret was the origin), I am completely in the 
dark, since I have not read a single volume, except those of 
which I have spoken to you, from the day of your departure 
up to the time at which she wrote. I really wish that Aunt 
Margaret would refrain from circulating such falsehoods. — 
On enquiry I have succeeded in eliciting that the origin of 
all this was my having hinted at a vague intention of pur- 
chasing at some indefinite period the works of Shelley — which 
I should peruse solely on account of the splendid versification, 
and not from any love of his atheistical sentiments. 


B 5- 
This letter was written from Boulogne. To keep my brother's 
health in good condition, our parents sent him, on two occasions, 
to spend a few weeks with some old friends at Boulogne, Signer 
Maenza and his wife — he an Italian, she an Englishwoman. Maenza 
was a political refugee, a man of character and honour ; an artist 
in the way of water-colour sketching etc., who taught drawing, and 
I suppose Italian as well. He died in 1870, his wife towards 1880. 
My brother's affectionate regard for them found steady practical 
expression up to the last. Peppino, mentioned in the letter, was the 
only son of the Maenzas— a student of painting, who never made 


a professional position, and whose final fate (he is now no doubt 
dead) was never known to his family or friends. He may have been 
three or four years my brother's senior. 

This letter from my brother follows on the same sheet on which 
Signor Maenza had written to our father. He describes Gabriel as 
having "a pleasant smile, and a well-developed and agreeable mind. 
I have already given a look at his sketches, and assure you that he 
promises highly." 

Although I have spoken of my brother, in the Memoir, as 
"Dante," I always call him "Gabriel" in these notes attached to 
his letters, as that was the only name by which he was designated 
in the family, and generally by his closer intimates. 

6 Rue de la Coupe, Boulogne-sur-Mer. 
20 October 1843. 

Dear Mamma, 

I arrived here yesterday a little before six, after having 
suffered considerably during the voyage. Fortunately for 
me the weather has suddenly become fine, after having been 
very, rough for a considerable time. I like Boulogne exceed- 
ingly, but I am, if possible, yet more pleased with the Maenza 
family. They are some of the kindest people I ever knew. 
I find that Peppino's tastes coincide in every respect with 
mine. He draws splendidly, and is very fond of poetry, 

especially Byron. 

* . * * * * * 

D I. 

This is the only letter from Gabriel to my grandfather which I 
find extant : there can never have been many. 

I have no recollection of the "new Romance" which my brother 
announces : probably it perished abortive. The " Ballad " is clearly 
Sir Hugh the Heron. 

6 Rue de la Coupe, Boulogne. 
Thursday 26 October 1843. 

My DEAR Grandfather, 

It is now exactly a week since I arrived in Boulogne. 
I like the place exceedingly. The views are most beautiful, 

4 FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 843- 21 

and the sailors and fishermen, with their wives and children, 
extremely picturesque. . . . 

My gigantic literary pursuits . . . have prompted me to 
write a new Romance, which I have already commenced, and 
which Peppino has undertaken to illustrate. I have made 
several purchases here, both of books and prints. Among 
others I have bought Bulwer's Leila, or the Siege of Granada, 
Caldero7i the Courtier, and The Lady of L^yons, all in one 
volume — which I purchased, entirely new and uncut, for two 
shillings ; their price in England, exclusive of the last-named 
work, being fourteen shillings. I shall however be obliged 
to smuggle it in under my coat, since I hear that they do not 
allow French editions of English works to enter the latter 
country. The other day I went out with Peppino for the 
purpose of taking a view, but the wind was so high that we 
found it impossible to draw, and were forced to retreat from 
the scene of action. 

Mr. Maenza has been reading Papa's Beatrice, which he 
admires very much. My Ballad has also been read, and 
received the necessary amount of compliments. I find that 
Mr. M[aenza] is a great admirer of English literature, and is 
particularly well-acquainted with Byron. I have been reading 
here The Deformed Transformed by that author, which is a 
strange drama relative to the Siege of Rome by Bourbon the 
Constable of France. It is perhaps not equal to many of his 
works, but nevertheless contains some sublime passages, 
particularly a quantity of songs and choruses. They have 
some most splendid books in this house, one of which is a 
Moliere, illustrated by Tony Johannot in a manner so ex- 
quisitely comic that it almost made me split my sides with 
laughing. Le Bourgeois Gentilhonime and Monsieitr de 
Pourceaugnac are particularly fine. 

* * * * * * 

Believe me, my dear Grandfather, 

Your affectionate Grandson, 

Gabriel Chas. Rossettl 


E I. 

6 Rue de la Coupe, Boulogne-sur-Mer. 
I November 1843. 

My dear Father, 

I was much grieved yesterday evening on receiving 
Mamma's letter, and no less ashamed of myself for my un- 
pardonable neglect in not enquiring after your health. I 
assure you, and I hope you will believe me, that it seems as 
unkind to myself, now that I reflect upon it, as it possibly 
can to you. Nevertheless I cannot imagine that you, who 
have hitherto enjoyed such excellent sight, are now about to 
be deprived of it. Had this defect of vision come over you 
when in a perfect state of health, I should certainly have 
entertained great fears that you were about to become blind ; 
but, as it is, I cannot but hope, and even trust, that it is merely 
a temporary consequence of the weakness attendant on your 
long illness. Did you represent this to Mr. Lawrence, and if 
so did he not lay some weight upon it ? 

Mr. Maenza agrees with me on this point. He told me of 
a woman he knew — and who is still living in Boulogne — who 
had been given over by the doctors as completely blind, but 
who, in spite of this, recovered naturally in a short time, and 
sees now, and has for years, as well as he does. 

Nevertheless this belief which I venture to entertain cannot 
prevent me from feeling great anxiety and uneasiness on your 
account. You say that William is unhappy ; can you believe 
that I am less so ? 1 assure you that Mamma's letter has 
made me very dull ; it does not contain one single piece of 
good news. . . . The only good I can gather from the letter 
i§ that, as Mamma does not mention the state of your health 
in other respects, I presume that the illness has entirely left 

As to my own health, which you so kindly enquire after, I 
am convinced that you will scarcely recognize me on my 
return. ... I now feel better than ever I did in my life. 
Mrs. Maenza says she should not know me for the safne 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 844. 23. 

person, and that she is convinced you will find me considerably 
grown as well as improved in looks ! I walk generally for 
nearly half the day, the views hereabouts being enough to 
drag out of his bed the greatest sluggard who ever snored. I 
intend to copy some of Mr. M[aenza]'s landscapes, since I 
have picked up a little taste that way. 

To conclude : the whole family join in affectionate regards 
and confident hopes for your recovery with 

Your affectionate Son, 

Gabriel Chas. Rossettl 

C 2. 

This letter (it will be perceived by the date and the altered 
address) belongs to the second visit which my brother paid to 
Boulogne. The sketch which Peppino made of him in 1843 is still 
extant — an unsightly and unresembling sketch, with an almost 
mulatto cast of countenance. 

" Byron's mad drama " is (as shov/n before) The Deformed Trans- 
formed. Mrs. Wood was a lady of some pretence to fashion living 
near us in Charlotte Street. " De Bazan " — the drama of Don 
CcBsar de Bazan — is spoken of as " accursed " only because it was 
then unevadable, as being played all over Europe. " Sue's novel " 
was the Juif Errant ; Barbe-bleue was also (if I remember right) 
an early novel of Sue's. "The Voyage" was a Voyage oil il vous 
flaira, illustrated by Tony Johannot with woodcut designs of 
remarkable power of a nightmare kind. " The Barone " was a 
Sicilian, Calfapietra, a very agreeable companionable man, who had 
damaged himself by gambling before coming to England. 

35 Grande Rue [Boulogne]. 
Saturday \j. December -I'&jfj^. 

My dear William, 

I received yesterday evening your unsightly missive 
containing the two C/mzzlewits, which were much admired. 
They greeted Mr. Maenza and myself on our return from an 
evening walk, during which we met the postman, who informed 
us that he had left a "gros paquet" at our house, which 
proved on inspection to be your epistolary eyesore, 


The only passages in Byron's mad drama which have left 
any impression on my mind are the battle-choruses, which are 
sublime, and the last scene, which is lively and spirited. It 
was never finished. 

I walk out here a great deal, gloating over all manner of 
Gavarnis, Johannots, Nanteuils, and other delicacies. I have 
got a large advertisement of the Beaiites de V Opera, containing 
a cut by the last-named artist, as fine as anything in the 
Tasso. I begin already to feel better here. The weather 
is cold, but clear and beautiful. None of the filthy vapours — 
half-fog, half-smoke — through which you are doubtless en- 
deavouring to decipher my epistle, while a poetical mind 
might figure forth the sun "taking a sight" at you— his face 
twisted into that comical expression which Phiz is in the 
habit of inflicting upon him. 

Our house is in a most beautiful situation. The window 
of what Mrs. Wood would call our " salon " looks out upon the 
market, which Mamma doubtless remembers, and whose pretty 
groups of pretty girls are at this moment regaling my eye. 

Boulogne is certainly, as Mr. Maenza says, a splendid place 
for an artist. The evening before last Mr. Maenza and I 
walked about the principal church of the town during mass 
or vespers or whatever they call it. What between the fine 
old Gothic interior, adorned with pictures and images of 
saints — the music and the chanting— the magnificent groups 
of old fishwomen, whose intense devotion has in it something 
sublime — and the " dim religious light " of the lamps placed 
against the Gothic pillars, which glimmered faintly up and 
struggled through the gathering darkness — the scene was so 
solemn and impressive that Maria (whom I wished for much) 
might have gone a Protestant, but would most certainly have 
returned a Catholic. 

I was talking with Mr. Maenza the other day about Papa's, 
poems, and I mentioned among others Minaccioso V Arc- 
angel di Guerra, which I find he has not seen. Would Papa 
be so kind (if he does not mind the postage) as to forward 
me a copy, should any remain ? 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 844- 2$ 

Franconi is here, with his manege, which we intend visiting 
— perhaps to-night. Conspicuous likewise among the fashion- 
able arrivals stands that wandering Spaniard, that dramatic 
cholera, the accursed De Bazan. 

Do not tell me how Sue's novel goes on, since I do not 
wish to have it stale on my return. Does Papa continue to 
like it, and was he not pleased with the scene where Gabriel 
" flayres uppe " so strong ? 

Is the Barbe-bleue finished ? If so, not a word about the 

Tell the Cavaliere (whom I often remember) that I left his 
parcel at Lady Hartwell's door, and should have delivered it in 
person but for the best of reasons — that she was not at home. 

I am glad that Papa's eyes are no worse. How is Grand- 
papa, how is Aunt Charlotte, and how are all the family ? 

I have bought several things here. Among others I picked 
up yesterday for fifteen sous {j\d. English) no less than five 
coloured Gavarnis, being three Enfants Terribles, one Fourberies 
de Femnies, and one Etudiants de Paris — all splendid speci- 
mens, and which usually sell at a franc apiece. I have 
likewise got six numbers of Johannot's Don Quixote, which 
is actually being re-issued at four sous the number ! I have 
likewise got several of the Voyage, and ordered the rest. I 
have got several other things, but must defer mentioning them 
^ for want of space. 

Remember me most extra especially to those real friends 
the Heimanns, and tell the Doctor that I shall write to him 
as soon as I have the slightest pretence for so doing. 

Love tp all the family, including the Barone and Cavaliere, 
and (if you see them) Sangiovanni and Pistrucci. 

Mr. and Mrs. Maenza salute you all warmly. 
Your affectionate Brother, 

Gabriel Chas. Rossettl 

P.S. — Looking over some of Peppino's sketches to-day, 
I found one which he made of me last year, and which I 
begged for Mamma, thinking she might care to have it 


E 2. 

The letter from Signer Maenza, which accompanied this one 
from my brother, speaks of the latter as " much grown " since 1843. 
"His conversation is lively, and his mind acts like a thunderbolt 
as soon as anything of high compass is spoken of. He will do, I 
am certain, all that is to be expected from an elevated spirit." There 
is another letter from Maenza, written on 25 January 1845, when 
Gabriel was returning to London, saying, " His imagination promises 
much, and I am persuaded that he will reach the goal aright." He 
then recommends that my brother should take — which he never 
did— to fencing or gymnastics, " to check the sedentary habits to 
which he is greatly inclined." An account follows, showing that 
the payment for house and board was ;£i per week. 

35 Grande Rue [Boulogne]. 
Thursday lo December 1844. 

My dear Father, 

I hope that you will excuse my writing this letter 
in English, but my Italian is so " stentato " [strained] that, 
although perhaps, when finished, it ma)^ be passably decent, 
still the labour of composing in a language in which I am 
so imperfect is an agony that I would willingly avoid. 

I was much grieved to hear that your sight had dete- 
riorated, especially as I had hoped that what remained was 
almost secure. Have you consulted the German you men- 
tioned ? and, if so, would you tell William or somebody to 
write to me as soon as possible on the subject ? Mr. Maenza, 
who will contribute his part to this letter, is of opinion that 
Paris is the best place for the treatment of your malady. 
I fear you must have thought me very remiss in not writing 
sooner. I should have done so, had I had anything to say 
which I thought would interest you. In fact I have not 
much even now, and only write to avoid the appearance of 
having forgotten you. 

My health continues good, with the exception of the 
toothache — which however confines itself to meal-times. I 
go out as much as the cold permits me, which, between wind 
arid frost, is biting in these parts. There are no beastly 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 844- "^-l 

Stifling fogs however, and the sun looks out brightly every- 
day at noon. We are anxiously expecting Peppino, whom 
we hope to see in about a week. His letters lead us to think 
that he has become more settled and steady. His last, which 
Mr. M[aenza] received a few days ago, was very sentimental, 
and spoke of some most amiable private pupil, " with whom " 
(to use his own words), " through the kindness of the mother, 
I am very intimate." 

After much racking of the brains I am sorry to find that 
this first piece of news is likewise the last. I have therefore 
only to forward you Mrs. Maenza's kind remembrances 
(letting Mr. M[aenza] speak for himself), and [to beg] 
that you will deliver that valuable article, my love, to all 
friends at home, keeping a large portion for yourself and 


" The last Diables " means the last numbers of an illustrated serial 
we were then taking in, Le Diable a Paris. The Canto Marziak 
is the same patriotic lyric by our Father previously mentioned as 
Minaccioso VArcangel di Guerra. The Salterio (Psaltery) is one of 
his books of religious-humanitarian poetry. The P.S., " Is Maria 
yet arrived ? " must point to the fact that our elder sister, then a 
governess in the country, was expected home at this time. 

[Boulogne] Tuesday 17 December 1844. 

My dear Brother, 

Following your example, I hasten, as in duty bound, 
to acquit me of the commission contained in your last. 1 
have enquired at the two principal shops in the town for 
Ragon's Coiirs PJiilosophique, and find that neither of them 
has got it. Ask Cavalier Mortara whether or not he wishes 
me to order it from Paris. 

I am glad to say that the weather has changed since 
Saturday, and that the cold is no longer so severe. On Sunday 
I spent a most agreeable day in the country at the house 
of a friend who lives about five or six miles from Boulogne 


in a most delightful situation, and close to a village which 
contains some of the most splendid sketches imaginable. 

I have been reading George Sand's Horace and Paul de 
Kock's Ce Monsieur. As regards the first, it certainly contains 
some splendid and even sublime pieces of writing ; but it 
is full of Saint Simonisme, communism, and sermons of all 
kinds, which render it both tedious and disgusting. Besides 
which, there is a great deal of French sentimentalism, and 
not a single possible character or probable incident. Ce 
Monsieur, as you may imagine, is glorious from title-page to 
finis. After all, Paul de Kock is unquestionably the most 
amusing and the most natural of the novelists. The interest 
of his works never flags for a moment, and even his pathetic 
scenes are perfectly true and unaffected. To-day or to-morrow 
I shall get another by the same author. Should you wish to 
see a more extended critique on these two works, you may 
look for it in a letter which I wrote yesterday to Dr. Heimann, 
wherein I have set forth my opinion at greater length. 

I will tell you a few of my purchases. Imprimis seven 
heads in lithography by Gavarni, which I got cheap at the 
same shop as the others I told you of. Item, Contes des 
Fees par Perratilt. This little book contains all our old 
friends. Blue-beard, Cinderella, etc., which I find were originally 
written by one Charles Perrault, born in 1633. It is full of 
most exquisite cuts, by Nanteuil, Deveria, Giraud, and, 
though last not least, a man of the name of Thomas, who 
is as fine as anybody I know. The misfortune is that, as 
they are published very cheap in order I suppose to be within 
the reach of every child, the cuts are printed on the same 
paper as a little book called the Tour de Nesle, which, as 
you doubtless remember, I bought last year, and many of 
the impressions are consequently completely ruined. Never- 
theless they will be a capital acquisition for our scrap-book. 
Item, twelve more numbers of Don Quixote. Item, some 
numbers of the Muse'e Philipon, full of first-rate Chams, 
Grandvilles, and Daumiers, and containing even a few most 
sublime Gavarnis. 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 844- 29 

There are a few other things, to see which you must, in 
the words of Scripture, " tarry till I come." 

By-the-bye, you give me a long account of some Phizes ; 
but you omit something even more interesting — namely, a 
description of the last Diables and Jiiif. 

Have you seen lately anything of our friend Gilbert, or 
procured any of his works ? I hope his style continues in 
good health. 

Get in Wellington Street the Illustration for Sunday 
8 December, being the one before last. I could not procure 
a copy in this place, they being all sold. It contains some 
capital Chams, some excellent Bertalls, and two or three 
landscapes by Calame of rather a sublime character. 
I You remember two or three cuts in our portfolio signed 
P.S.G. The name, I find, is Saint-Germain. The other day 
I actually saw, in a barber's shop on the port, some of 
the finest cuts from Vernet's Napoleon (among others, the 
Kremlin and the Battle of Wagram) cut out and pasted on 
some bottles of eau-de-Cologne. My blood boils within me 
as I write it. 

The othef night I went to Franconi's to see the horseman- 
ship. It certainly beats our Astley's, Franconi is the very 
image of the Duke of Wellington. There was a horse which 
danced the polka- 

I have got the rest of the Voyage with the exception of 
one number. Unfortunately I do not know which it is. On 
my return however I shall endeavour to find out by reference 
to the numbers I bought last year, and shall order it 

I trust that Papa's sight has improved, or at least remains 
stationary. Mr. Maenza greatly admired the Canto Marziale, 
and was particularly delighted with the lines commencing 
" Sette siri ci colman di mali." I have a favour to ask for 
him as soon as I return to London. It is that Papa will 
make me a present of a Salterio for —} who admires his 

' The name has been torn off — perhaps Siesto. 


poetry exceedingly, and begged me, if possible, to coax him 
out of a copy. 

We are still expecting Peppino. I anticipate his advent 
with great pleasure, since he will be a wonderful acquisition 
in the way of cheerfulness. 

Love to all, especially Mamma. Love likewise from Mr. 
and Mrs. Maenza. 

Your most affectionate Brother, 

Gabriel Chas. Rossetti. 

P.S. — Is Maria yet arrived ? 

B 6. 

My brother had just had at Boulogne an attack of small-pox, to 
which the opening passage in this letter refers. It left no trace 

[Boulogne.] Wednesday 22 January 1845. 

My dearest Mother, 

About a couple of hours ago I received your letter, 
and hasten to answer it. My health improves daily, so much 
so that yesterday and to-day I have been able to go out. 
The pustules have almost entirely disappeared, my eyes have 
not suffered in the least, and I feel much stronger. There is 
not the least necessity for my staying here after the present 
week. I shall return (by Folkestone, which the Doctor tells 
me is necessary) on Saturday or Sunday. He (Dr. R.) says 
there is not the slightest danger of contagion. 


1 am sorry to say that we are all invalids here, inasmuch 
as Mrs. Maenza has a violent cold, and Mr. Maenza (who 
has been unwell in one way or another ever since my arrival) 
has been seized to-day with a pain in the leg, which troubles 
him much and almost prevents his walking. Both wish to 
be remembered to you, and the former says that she should 
have made it a duty to answer your letter, had she not been ill. 

Did you not think Peppino greatly improved ? We have 


agreed to keep up a weekly correspondence, in which I 
intend to spur him on to follow up his plan of making a 
water-colour for the exhibition. It is perfectly shameful 
that with his talents, which (in portrait, landscape, and in fact 
in everything except original composition) are of a very 
high order, he should consent to remain buried in a country- 

Being afraid, dear Mamma, that any news I might have 
to tell would not be of a nature to interest you, I shall address 
it instead to William ; hoping to see you all very soon, and 
begging you to believe me 

Your affectionate Son, 

Gabriel Chas. Rossettl 


" The prospect of employment which had opened for me " was 
that which continued to abide with me up to the close of August 
1894, when I retired from the public service. I entered the Excise 
Office (then in Old Broad Street, City, now Inland Revenue Office 
in Somerset House) as an extra clerk on 6 February 1845 — being 
in my sixteenth year. The translation which my brother made 
from a Corsican ballad has perished. It is difficult to understand 
how he could have supposed the powers of his young friend Peppino 
Maenza, in sketching from Nature, to be "perfectly gigandc," 
though I dare say they were well up to the average, or even beyond 
that. Perhaps my brother contrasted these powers with his own — 
which in that direction were never strong. 

[Boulogne. 22 Jatiuary 1845.] 

Dear William, 

I was rejoiced to hear of the prospect of employment 
which has opened for you. Let us hope that it will be 

Did Peppino show you his Gavarni book ? If so, vous 
m'en direz des noiivelles on my return. If not, you will soon 
be able to console yourself with the store of treasures to be 
laid before your admiring eyes on the aforesaid occasion. 


I have read several books lately, the principal ones being : 
M. Dupont, by Paul de Kock ; Les Jolies Filles, by Langon 
and Touchard ; and Colouiba and other tales, by Prosper 
Merimee. The first is excellent, of course, though not so 
good as some by the same author. The second is a combina- 
tion of extreme stupidity with the highest pitch of disgusting 

As regards Colomba, it is perfectly sublime. There is 
about it a manly and vigorous style which has seldom indeed 
been equalled. It contains likewise some Corsican ballads, 
exactly in the style of the old English poetry ; one of which 
in particular pleased me so much that I took the trouble of 
translating it. It is, I am sorry to say, a fragment, consisting 
of a very few verses. Among the other tales in the same 
volume there is a supernatural one, called La Venus d'llle, 
which is unutterably fine. 

I have read several other things : among the rest, a poem 
by Barthelemy entitled UArt de Fumer, carried through 
three cantos with a most amusing cheek. 

I have bagged a few sketches of Peppino's, with which 1 
am sure you will be greatly pleased. Certainly, as long as 
he keeps to Nature, his powers are perfectly gigantic. 

Having no more room, believe me 

.Your affectionate Brother, 

Gabriel Chas. Rossetti. 


There are some rather strong utterances in this epistle. 

" Lady Charies " was Lady Charles Thynne, a sister-in-law of the 
Marchioness Dowager of Bath. " Poor Maggy " (Maria) had 
become governess in the family of Lady Charies. She pretty 
soon gave up acting as a regular governess, and lived at home, 
giving lessons at the houses of pupils. 

Our Mother, with Christina, was at Heme Bay when this letter 
was written ; other members of the family had been along with her, 
but were now back. 

fAMlLY-LETTERS — 184/. J3 

[Towards August 1847.] 

Dear Mamma, 

Accompanying this is a letter from Mr. L., which has 
just come in time to send. The stupid seal alluded to we 
retain, as unworthy of carriage expenses. As to the non- 
sense about Christina's Verses, I should advise her to console 
herself with the inward sense of superiority (assuring her 
moreover that she will not be the first who has been driven 
time after time to the same alternative), and to consign the 
fool and his folly to that utter mental oblivion to the which, 
I doubt not, she has long ago consigned all those who have 
been too much honoured by the gift of her book. 

I hope you told Lady Charles that that poor Maggy is 
not to be bullied and badgered out of her life by a lot of 
beastly brats ; and that Lady C[harles] fully understands the 
same, and has already provided the said Maggy with a 

You do not say a word of your own return, although you 
cannot but know how anxious we are on the subject. 

Your affectionate Son, 


While William was away two tickets came from Maroncelli 
(directed to Christina) for a concert, where Jenny Lind sang 
her Swedish songs and several other things. As I abhor 
concerts, I gave them to the Heimanns, who, it appears, were 
greatly pleased. There was a hymn sung, with choruses, in 
honour of Pio Nono, I suppose you have not heard that the 
Austrians have been forced by a general rising to retreat 
from Ferrara, The papers also affirm, as a certain fact, that 
the Pope has said that, if this unjustifiable interference is 
continued, he shall first make a protest to all the Sovereigns 
of Europe against Austria ; that, in case this should fail, he 
will excommunicate both Emperor and people ; and that, 
when driven to the last extremity, he will himself ride in the 
van of his own army with the sword and the Cross, and that 
then five millions of Christians shall rise and follow him. 

VOL. II. 3 


A 3- 

This letter, and other subsequent letters as well, show that my 
brother had much reason to be thankful to our Aunt Charlotte 
Polidori for liberal assistance afforded to him at contingencies when 
he would otherwise have been in straits. Miss Polidori, having a 
regular and sufficient income from her exertions as governess, was, 
during his earlier professional career, a good deal better off than 
other members of the family, and was alone capable of producing 
a comfortable extra sum in hand. My brother speaks of "two 
men," to one or other of whom he thought of applying for practical 
artistic training, especially in colouring. One of these, to whom he 
actually did apply, was Ford Madox Brown, who thus became his 
life-long and most affectionate friend. I cannot say who the other 
may have been. He admired towards this time the paintings of 
Mr. C. H. Lear and Mr. W. D. Kennedy, as testified by some 
writings of his published by me in his Collected Works (vol. ii., 
pp. 495-6). Perhaps one of these was in his mind. I fear that 
both these artists are now forgotten, more especially Mr, Lear, who 
must not be confounded with the landscape-painter and author 
Edward Lear, writer of The Book of Nonsense, and of some books 
of travel, very sprightly but not at all nonsensical. 

[50 Charlotte Steeet. 9 February 1848.] 

Dear Aunt Charlotte, 

It is now several days since I received a very kind 
letter of yours, but it is not till now that I have been able to 
decide in my own mind whether or not I had any right to 
accept the offer it contains. I have at length resolved to do 
so ; and to this resolution I shall add no mere expression of 
a gratitude which I shall best prove by profiting as much as 
possible by the opportunity you so generously place within 
my reach. Nor do I forget that this is not the first time I 
have been equally indebted to you. 

The motive which has induced me to lay myself under so 
great an obligation to you is the knowledge that, unless I 
obtain by some means the advantage which you have offered 
me, my artistic career will be incalculably retarded, if not 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 848. 35 

altogether frustrated. Every time I attempt to express my 
ideas in colour I find myself baffled, not by want of ability — 
I feel this, and why should I not say it ? — but by ignorance of 
certain apparently insignificant technicalities which, with the 
guidance of an experienced artist, might soon be acquired. 
Such an artist it is not very easy to find, out of the ranks of 
those whose fame either makes them careless of obtaining 
pupils, or renders their charges for instruction exorbitant. I 
have got however two men in my eye who, possessing 
abilities equal to the most celebrated, have by some unac- 
countable accident not obtained, except among their brother 
artists, that renown which they merited. These therefore 
would, I should think, be the persons to apply to ; and, as 
soon as I have communicated with either of them (which I 
shall proceed to do immediately), I will write you the result. 

I remain, my dear Aunt, 

Your grateful Nephew, 

Gabriel C. Rossettl 

A 4. 
This letter — of superior interest as showing my brother's first 
acquaintance with Mr. Brown — calls for little elucidation. The 
" work he is engaged upon " must have been the Widif reading his 
Bible to John of Gaunt, or possibly Cordelia watching the Bedside of 

[so Charlotte Street. April 1848.] 

My dear Aunt, 

I dare say you will have thought my long silence 
strange enough. The fact is that, when I wrote to Mr. Ford 
Brown (one of the artists to whom I alluded in my last), I 
affixed to my note the address which I found in the Exhibi- 
tion Catalogue ; but it turns out that he has moved since the 
last time he exhibited, so that my letter probably wandered 
about before reaching him. When he got it however he 
called on me, and requested that I would go down to his 


Studio (which is in Clipstone Street), and see a work he is 
engaged upon. I accordingly went, and he entered on the 
subject of my becoming his pupil. He says that he is not in 
the habit of giving instruction in a professional way ; but 
that any assistance he can afford me he shall be exceedingly 
happy to impart as a friend, and that, even if I wish to go 
through a regular course of study under his direction — so long 
as he perceives that T have sufficient talent to make success 
probable — he most kindly consents to receive me, still as a 
friend. At the same time he advises me to join an evening 
academy held in Maddox Street, where students can draw 
from the living model at, I believe, a trifling expense. I 
shall of course follow his advice, and to that effect will avail 
myself of your kind offer — for which, believe me, I am none 
the less grateful because a fortunate chance (which could not 
have occurred without it) enables me to dispense with the full 
extent of the obligation. 

On Monday evening next I shall join the academy in 
question. At the same time I shall of course settle respect- 
ing terms etc., whereof I will immediately render you 

Meanwhile, believe me, my dear Aunt, with renewed thanks. 

Your affectionate Nephew, 


A 5. 

My brother, in tendering some of his poems to Leigh Hunt for 
perusal, acted simply from a belief in the critical acumen and 
sympathy of that veteran writer. Hunt's book of Lord Byron and 
some of his Contemporaries was very familiar to my brother and 
myself, along with various specimens of his more strictly critical 
writings and of his poems — which last we relished without unmodi- 
fied admiration. My brother did call once upon Hunt, in accord- 
ance with his invitation, and enjoyed the interview, yet I hardly 
think that he made any second call — owing not to any real reluct- 
ance, but to occupations, distractions, and lack of forwardness. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 848. 37 

[50 Charlotte Street. 12 April 1848.] 

Dear Aunt Charlotte, 

For the whole of the past week I have been afflicted 
with a return of my old atrocious boils, which has effectually 
precluded the possibility of my stirring out. Of this, how- 
ever, I dare say you have already been informed by Mamma, 
who thinks everybody's illnesses of consequence except her 
own. It was therefore not till last night that I was enabled 
to join the Maddox Street Academy, according to the re- 
commendation of Mr. Ford Brown. I find that the terms are 
half-a-guinea monthly — rather more than I had been led to 
believe. However, as you had made me so kind an offer, 
I thought that I should not be exceeding the bounds of 
moderation in joining, which I did. In order to pay for the 
first month I was obliged to inform Mamma of our corre- 
spondence and its object ; so that it will now be as well to 
forward to her, instead of to me, the half-guinea in question, 
which she disbursed. For all this I will not repeat my 
thanks, because it would perhaps appear an affectation, but 
I hope you will believe me nevertheless not ungrateful. The 
academy is a capital one. The hours are from seven to ten 
in the evening, and the model sits four times a week. 

Notwithstanding illness, 1 have been for some days in a 
state of considerable exhilaration. Not long ago I sent some 
poems of mine to Leigh Hunt, requesting him to read them, 
and tell me if they were worth anything. His answer is so 
flattering that I cannot quote any part of it, lest it should 
seem like conceit. Moreover, he requests me, as soon as he 
has moved into another house (by reason of which removal he 
is at present in some bustle and confusion), to " give him the 
pleasure of my acquaintance " ! ! ! ! 

A 6. 

The poem which my brother sent to our Aunt in this instance 
must, I think, have been Aly Sister's Sleep. At a later date (see 
C59 etc.) he certainly did not regard it as "my best thing as yet," 


Leigh Hunt's reference to " Dantesque heavens " must have applied 
in chief to The Blessed Damozel. 

[50 Charlotte Street.] Sunday {? June 1848]. 

Dear Aunt Charlotte, 

Ever since I received your last letter (which I fear 
is very long ago) I have kept it lying on my table as a 
memento. The fact is that I should have answered it long 
ago, had I not wished my answer to be accompanied by the 
poem which I enclose, and which wanted a few finishing 
touches, which I have at last found time to give it. It is 
the one of my precious performances which is, I think, the 
most likely to please you as to style and subject. All the 
others are of course completely at your service, and shall be 
sent, if you so desire, immediately upon an intimation from 
you to that effect. I only refrain from doing so till then 
because I do not wish you to pay a heavy postage for things 
of such a little value. I hope you will not be displeased at 
my adding that I should not wish the verses to be seen by 
any one but yourself, as I think an unpublished poet is 
always rather a ridiculous character to appear in before 

Where Hunt, in his kind letter, speaks of my " Dantesque 
heavens," he refers to one or two of the poems the scene 
of which is laid in the celestial regions, and which are 
written in a kind of Gothic manner which I suppose he 
is pleased to think belongs to the school of Dante. The 
other word about which you ask me I read as you do — 
viz., " round." 

I continue going to the Life-school in Maddox Street, 
where I enjoy my studies much. During the day I paint 
at Mr. Brown's, who is an invaluable acquisition to me as 
regards the art, and moreover a most delightful friend. We 
are already quite confidential. His kindness, and the trouble 
he takes about me, are really astonishing ; I cannot imagine 
what I have done to deserve them. Yesterday I showed 
him some of my poetical productions, which he seemed to 

By D. G. RossetH. 

William M. Rossetti. 



like much, especially the one I send you. Indeed I think 
myself that it is perhaps my best thing as yet, being more 
simple and like nature. 


When this letter was written, I was staying at Brighton with our 
Mother, Christina, and our Grandfather Polidori. The picture on 
which my brother was then engaged was his first exhibited oil- 
picture, The Girlhood of Mary Virgin. "The first volume of 
Keats'" means the first volume of Lord Houghton's Life of Keats. 
'•^Joseph and the Stories " mean Charles Wells's drama of Joseph 
and his Brethren, and his Stories after Nature. The lines " 'Twas 
thus, thus is," etc., must (need I say ?) be understood as intentional 
nonsense, or burlesque. "Your Mackay song" was an effusion 
of the same class, meant as a skit upon songs (such as " There's 
a good time coming ") by Dr. Charles Mackay. " Our next literary 
meeting" refers to certain meetings — monthly or the like — which 
the members of our family, with a very few intimates, held at this 
time, for reading recent verse-compositions, etc. These meetings 
rapidly died out. 

[50 Charlotte Street. 20 Aiigust 1848.] 

Dear William, 

I write to you because T have a half-hour to spare 
and nothing else to do. If, being in the same predicament, 
you happen to answer, tell me what you do at dreary 
snobbish Brighton ; and, if you have written anything, send 
me a copy. I have not scribbled a line, but think of shirking 
the studio to-day, and doing so. 1 have made a study for 
the colour of my picture, but, not being quite satisfied there- 
with, am trying a second. I have also made a nude study 
for the figure of St. Anne. Hunt and I are now settled 
down quite comfortably, and he is engaged on the pre- 
liminaries for his picture of Rienzi. 

I have not yet had time to get quite through the first 
volume of Keats, which is exceedingly interesting. He seems 
to have been a glorious fellow, and says in one place (to my 
great delight) that, having just looked over a folio of the 
first and second schools of Italian painting, he has conie to 


the conclusion that the early men surpassed even Raphael 

I picked up the other day for sixpence a book I had long 
wished to see, called An Exposition of the False Medium and 
Barriers precluding Men of Genius from the Public. It is 
well worth a perusal, and makes mention of Joseph and the 
Stories. The date of publication is 1833. 

Hunt and I went the other night to Woolner's, where we 
composed a poem of twenty-four stanzas on the alternate 
system. I transcribe the last stanza, which was mine, to 
show you the style of thing : — 

"'Twas thus, thus is, and thus shall be: 
The Beautiful — the Good — 
Still mirror to the Human Soul 
Its own intensitude ! " 

I saw your Mackay song, which is not at all bad. The other 
thing very poor. . . . 

Our next literary meeting, as you will remember, comes 
off next Saturday. If you can be there, it will be all the 
better. Does Christina write? Love to Mamma etc. 

Sincerely yours, 


C 6. 

My brother and I at this time— and in a minor degree our sister 
Christina — were much addicted to writing sonnets to bouts rimes; 
one of us giving the rhyme-endings, and the other knocking-off 
the sonnet thereto as fast as practicable. A large proportion of the 
" poems " of mine published in The Germ had been thus composed. 
We were all three dexterous practitioners in this line, Gabriel the 
best. A sonnet would sometimes be reeled off in five or seven 
minutes — ten to twelve minutes was counted a long spell. The 
sonnets of which he speaks in the present letter had been concocted 
on this plan by my sister and myself at Brighton. 

Hancock was a young sculptor of some repute. It seems that I 
had seen in Brighton some one whom I supposed to be Munro the 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1848. 4 1 

50 Charlotte Street. August 30, 1848. 

Dear William, 

First, of the sonnets. I grinned tremendously over 
Christina's Plague^ which however is forcible, and has some- 
thing good in it. Her other is first-rate. Pray impress 
upon her that this, and the one commencing " Methinks the 
ills of life," are as good as anything she has written, and well 
worthy of revision. Of your own. The Completed Soul and 
The Shadow of the Flower (as I should laconize it) are admir- 
able. " I drink deep-throated of the life of life," splendid. 
The Great Gulf Betwixt, and The Holy of Holies, are also very 
good, though a shade less so. I do not think you have 
improved The One Dark Shade ; touching which, moreover, I 
hereby solemnly declare that " The trees waving which breezes 
seem to woo " is no verse at all, and should say " The waving 
trees." Let me earnestly assure you that this is the fact. 
As for Thither, you will never make sense of that till you 
cut away the simile about the poet. If you have written 
anything since, send it in your answer, which make as speedy 
as possible, as I am awfully low and want something to stir 
me up. 

I have not read a line of anything since I wrote, and of 
course therefore have not finished Keats. I dare say, after 
all, you will have read it before I shall. The only book I 
have picked up is L. E. L.'s Iinprovisatrice, for which I gave 
ninepence. By-the-bye, have you got her Violet and Bracelet 
with you ? I cannot find them in our library. 

There was no meeting of the Literary Society on Saturday. 
Collinson was at the Isle of Wight (whither I did not go with 
him), Hancock also out of town, and Deverell of course 
anywhere but where he ought to be. He explained his 
former absence by saying two engagements kept him away, 
he having otherwise prepared a dramatic scene for the 
occasion. This I have not yet inspected ; but he sent me 
the other day a poem, something about a distressingly ideal 
poet yearning for the insane, which is not quite so incongruous, 
and contained one or two good things, 


Munro has not been to Brighton ; but the other day, in 
London, he fancied he saw you on the top of an omnibus. 
As he is a Scotchman, this is dangerous, or rather encoura- 
ging. There can be no doubt that one at least is to die. 
Pray to God that it may be you. 

Apropos of death. Hunt and I are going to get up among 
our acquaintance a Mutual Suicide Association, by the regu- 
lations whereof any member, being weary of life, may call at 
any time upon another to cut his throat for him. It is all 
of course to be done very quietly, without weeping or 
gnashing of teeth. I, for instance, am to go in and say, 
" I say. Hunt, just stop painting that head a minute, and cut 
my throat " ; to which he will respond by telling the model 
to keep the position as he shall only be a moment, and 
having done his duty, will proceed with the painting. 

The Cyclographic gets on fast. From discontent it has 
already reached conspiracy. There will soon be a blow-up 

Hunt and I have prepared a list of Immortals, forming 
our creed, and to be pasted up in our study for the affixing 
of all decent fellows' signatures. It has already caused 
considerable horror among our acquaintance. I suppose we 
shall have to keep a hair-brush. The list contains four 
distinct classes of Immortality ; in the first of which three 
stars are attached to each name, in the second two, in the 
third one, and in the fourth none. The first class consists 
only of Jesus Christ and Shakespear. We are also about to 
transcribe various passages from our poets, together with for- 
cible and correct sentiments, to be stuck up about the walls. 

The night before last I sat up and made a design of 
Coleridge's Genevieve, which is certainly the best thing I 
have done. It took me from eleven to six in the morning. 
I have also designed very carefully Hist, said Kate the 
Queen, which has come well. I made the other day a small 
sketch for the Death of Marmion, which I mean to do larger, 
as it is a fine subject in spite of the muffs. I have not 
written a line. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 848. 43 

I went the other night to see Lucrezia at Covent Garden. 
Grisi is most tremendous, and Alboni's song, with the funeral 
chaunt between the stanzas, very fine — in fact, the whole 
of the last scene is tremendous, as is also the denunciation 
at the end of the first act. In this Grisi screamed con- 
tinuously for about two minutes, and was immense. We 
must go and see it together. Love to all. 

Your affectionate Brother, 

G. C. R. 

B 8. 

Clifton was a painstaking but not powerful painter, a member of 
the Cyclographic Society. — Collinson's poem of The Child Jesus 
stands published in The Germ. 

{Towards September 1848.] 

Dear Mamma, 

William having suggested that you might perhaps like 
a note from me, I hasten to send you the same, which I would 
have done before, had I possessed any news which I thought 
would interest you. At present indeed I have not a jot more 
than then, except of that class which William gloats over, and 
all others scorn. This accordingly I must proceed to retail. 

I have returned this minute from the Queen's Theatre in 
Tottenham Street, whither I went with Collinson and Clifton 
to witness a profoundly intense drama entitled Kceuba the 
Pirate Vessel^ wherein are served up a British sailor and other 
dainties. One of the pirates wore trouser-straps — which I 
thought was a touch of nature, considering. 

Have you seen Christina's and William's rhyme-sonnets ? 
The second of C[hristina]'s is really good, so is the second of 
William's. His third is also good, but for the strange word 
" queer," wherein 1 recognize the influence of Christina's 
powerful mind. His fourth has some very good lines, but is 
wretched nonsense as it stands. 

By-the-bye, I will transcribe you a howling canticle written 
by me yesterday — in what agony of tears let the style suggest. 
I hereby declare that if snobbishness consists in the assump- 


tion of false appearances, the most snobbish of all things is 


Know'st thou not at the Fall of the Leaf. 

[Here follows the poem, in a less mature form than the printed 

The folio of the great Cyclographic continues its rounds. 
It is now with Collinson. Calling on him this morning, and 
finding that he had no sketch ready and did not mean to 
make one, I designed an angular saint, which we mean to send 
round under his name, to the mystification and sore disgust, 
no doubt, of the members in general. I expect we shall end 
by getting kicked out. The criticisms are becoming more 
and more scurrilous. Dennis has helped them materially in 
their downward course by telling Deverell that his last design 
is a re-version from Retzsch's outline of the same subject. 

Collinson has almost finished his poem of The Child Jesus. 
It is a very first-rate affair. He has augmented it with two 
new incidents, by which addition it is now made emblematical 
of the " five sorrowful mysteries " of the Atonement. He 
thinks of leaving to-morrow for Heme Bay, with the intention 
of remaining there a few days. 1 may perhaps accompany 
him, but have not yet quite decided. 

Having exhausted everything, believe me, dear Mamma, 

Your affectionate Son, 


Will you tell William that our literary criticisms have not 
yet commenced ? I see no reason why he should not retain 
" grey meadows." 

C 7. 
James Collinson's brother was a bookseller at Mansfield in 
Nottinghamshire. I was at this time on a visit to James Collinson 
and his mother hard by, at Pleasley Hill. The question whether I 
had found a castle yet refers to my having projected writing a 
poem descriptive of a ruined castle. I did find one in a different 
neighbourhood, and composed the lines of blank verse published in 


The Germ. The head of St. Anne in my brother's picture was 
painted from our mother — a very good likeness. 

[50 Charlotte Street.] 
Wednesday, 5 p..m. [22 November 1848]. 

Dear William, 

I believe Collinson's brother has a subscription library. 
It has just struck me that he may possibly possess the Stories 
after Nature, or at least know where we might be likely to 
obtain a copy. I therefore write without delay, in order that 
you may make diligent enquiry on the subject. 

I wTote yesterday the subjoined sonnet touching my picture, 
for the catalogue. You are going, I believe, to write to 
Christina, and can then tell me how you like it. I do not 
quite relish the fourth line, neither am I certain about " strong 
in grave peace." You will perhaps remember that in a trans- 
lation of mine from Mamiani there is the expression " An 
angel-watered plant." This is not in Mamiani at all, but was 
my own addition, and therefore of course at my free disposal. 
I have here used it in allusion to the allegory of the picture. 

Have you written anything or found a castle yet ? St. 
Anne's head in my picture has succeeded beyond my 

Commend me to Collinson — that is, if he is in a good 
humour ; and remember that I am 

Your affectionate 

Gabriel Dante Rossettl 


This is that Blessed Mary, pre-elect 

God's Virgin. Gone is a great while since she 

Dwelt thus in Nazareth of Galilee. 
Loving she was, with temperate respect : 
A profound simpleness of intellect 

Was hers, and extreme patience. From the knee 

Faithful and hopeful ; wise in charity ; 
Strong in grave peace ; in duty circumspect. 
Thus held she through her girlhood ; as it were 

An angcl-vvatered lily that near God 


Grows and is quiet. Till one dawn, at home 
She woke in her white bed, and had no fear 
At all, yet wept for a brief period ; 

Because the fullness of the time was come. 

A 7- 
The work here spoken of as " my picture this year " is again The 
Girlhood of Mary Virgin. The Marchioness Dowager of Bath — in 
whose family our Aunt Charlotte Polidori lived for many years, as 
governess and afterwards as companion — purchased the picture, 
some short while after the date of this letter. The notion of com- 
missioning Gabriel to do some portraits may probably have come 
from the Marchioness ; no such portraits were produced. The larger 
and smaller pictures which he was now contemplating must have 
been Kate the Queen and The Annunciation (otherwise named Ecce 
Ancilla Domini)^ which is in the National Gallery. The portrait 
which "Collinson did of Christina" is now in my possession. The 
Art-Union journal is the same publication which was afterwards 
termed The Art Journal. It did print a criticism of The Girlhood of 
Mary Virgin — and a laudatory one. The final question addressed 
to our Aunt — " Have you written any more poetry ? " — refers to the 
fact that she had (by a sort of sudden impulse, for which she 
could not well account) thrown oif some verses in a quasi-ballad 
form ; my brother thought there was " something in them." This 
was a curious " sport " on her part, and remained solitary ; for she 
was not in the least a poetical person, either in performance or in 
temperament. I will here give the verses, which I found among the 
papers left by Christina at her decease : — 

He wanders on, he wanders on— 

I know not where he's gone : 
I follow him, I follow him, 

Who has my heart as his. 

He waxed hot, he waxed hot 

When gently I him told 
My mother's fears, my mother's fears 

That he my peace would mar. 

He called me cold, he called me cold ; 

My hand from his he threw: 
He would not hear, he would not hear 

My bitter words of grief. 

fAMiLY-LETTERS — 1 849. 47 

O mother dear, O mother dear, 

Break not thy heart for me : 
I'll hasten on, I'll hasten on, 

And then fall down and die. 

The reader may perhaps observe that this is the first letter bearing 
the signature " Dante Gabriel Rossetti." It must therefore have 
been towards the close of his twenty-first year, or the beginning of 
his twenty-second, that he adopted this form of the Christian names, 
to which he ever afterwards adhered. 

[? 50 Charlotte Street.] 
Tuesday Morning [? May 1849]. 

My dear Aunt, 

I am nniuch obliged to you for your note of yesterday, 
which I would have answered before this morning if my time 
had been less taken up. 

As my picture this year has created some interest, it is 
desirable that I should come before the public next year as 
prominently as possible, so as to succeed in establishing at 
once some degree of reputation. I am therefore about to 
commence immediately another work, hoping thus to get 
two done before the next exhibition — one of some size, and 
another smaller. For this purpose I am now engaged on 
making drawings. These things considered, I should be un- 
willing to endanger my chance of finishing two pictures by 
employing my time on portraits, unless the latter were really 
to compensate me by a good remuneration. 

My terms therefore would be as follows : — 

For a small full-length in chalks (18 inches by 15 or there- 
abouts), ;^5 5^-. 

For a small portrait in oil, like the one Collinson did of 
Christina, ^8 Zs. 

For a larger portrait in oil, the price would be proportionate 
according to the size. 

I do not take miniatures ; and, as to the number of sittings, 
that must of course depend in a great measure on the patience 
of the sitter. Moreover, as I have not much practice in 
portraits, I cannot be positive in that matter. 

Should these terms prove too high (as I almost anticipate 


that they will), I hope that you will not consider me foolish 
in thus rejecting a linnet in the hand for the sake of two 
pheasants in the bush. 

The other day I went to the Free Exhibition, with Millais, 
Hunt, and two or three other friends ; and we remarked one 
of the critics of the Art-Union journal standing before my 
picture for a quarter of an hour at least. I therefore antici- 
pate, on the first of next month, to be either praised or regu- 
larly cut up in that paper. As the paper is very influential, 
I hope it will be the former. I have already been approved 
by the only two other journals whose opinion goes for any- 
thing in matters of art — the Athenceum and the Builder. As 
soon as the Art-Union makes its appearance I will take care 
that you are apprized of its contents in my regard, as I have 
reason to know of old how much kind interest you take 
in my unworthy self 

Mamma and the rest desire me to send you their loves with 
my own, with which valuable missive I remain 
Your affectionate Nephew, 

Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 

Have you written any more poetry ? 


The main subject of this letter is the projected Prasraphaelite 
magazine, shortly afterwa'rds entitled The Germ. I was at Ventnor 
(Isle of Wight) when the letter was written. Collinson had ac- 
companied me to Cowes, but was now gone again. 

The joke " It doesn't show (so much) at night " is taken from 
one of Hood's funny poems, in which a negro's ghost is made to 
appear by daylight — 

. "Because he was a Blackamoor, 
And wouldn't show at night." 

Herbert, who is spoken of as one of the proprietors of The Germ, 
was the R.A. painter John R. Herbert, then well known to Collin- 
son. He did not however actually become a proprietor. North 
was William North, an eccentric literary man, not without a spice of 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 849. 49 

genius, of whom we then saw a goodish deal — author of Anti- 
Coningsby, The Infinite Republic, and other works. Not very long 
after this he emigrated to the United States, and in 1854 committed 
suicide. Bliss was a young lawyer of some literary aspirations. 
He also emigrated, to Australia. 

Holman Hunt and my brother had at this time resolved to make 
a little tour to Paris and Belgium, which soon afterwards came off. 

Dickinson means Lowes (or else Robert) Dickinson, members 
of a flourishing print-selling firm in Bond Street. Mr. Lowes 
Dickinson is now, as for many years past, a leading portrait-painter. 
Williams, whom my brother had met at Dickinson's, was Mr. William 
Smith Williams, the first discoverer of Charlotte Bronte's genius. 
He was brother-in-law to Charles Wells, and became father-in-law 
to Mr. Lowes Dickinson. 

This letter shows the origin of my brother's poem The Staff and 
Scrip. I must have returned to him the synopsis of the subject 
which he sent me. I do not remember the " other plot of his 
own devising." 

" I want to know all about your poem." This refers to a blank- 
verse narrative poem which I was writing at Ventnor, intending 
it for The Germ. It first saw the light of actual publication in 1868, 
in the Broadway Magazine, under the name of Mrs. Holmes Grey. 
The notion of my brother's coming with Woolner to join me at 
Ventnor did not take effect. 

[London. Tuesday Night, 18 September 1849.] 

- Dear William, 

Feeling utter disgust at everything, I sit down to 
write to you, hoping thereby to get myself into a philoso- 
phical frame of mind. I ought to have written before, 
having somewhat to say, but in the daytime the awful bore 
confronted me in too glaring a manner. It doesn't show 
(so much) at night. This filthy joke is as a mill-stone round 
the neck of my spirit, to sink it to the lowest abyss of 
degradation, whence (having no further to descend) it can 
now indite this epistle in a mood of sullen calmness. 

I believe we have found a publisher for the Magazine — 
viz., Aylott and Jones, 8 Paternoster Row. I was introduced 
to them about a week back by a printer, a friend of 

VOL. II. 4 


Hancock's. They seemed perfectly willing to publish for 
us, and the only reason that we have not yet printed the 
prospectus with their names attached is that I wished first 
to be sure that the commission they ask (lo per cent, not 
on the profits only, but on the entire sale) is a just one. The 
duty of sifting this matter devolved on the dilatory Deverell 
— a fact which will fully account for its being yet in abeyance. 
I hope from day to day however to have the prospectus out. 
We have made enquiries about the printing of the etchings, 
which it appears would cost us about 2s. or 2s. 6d. a hundred, 
exclusive of the cost of paper. Our proprietors at present 
amount to nine (including Hancock, who has been enrolled, 
and Herbert, who I fear is rather a doubtful case). I cannot 
see why old Collinson should not be made to take a share. 
Endeavour to impress this on the amount of mind he possesses. 
I strongly suspect that the cost of printing a number will not 
be less than nearly i^20. North however has given me 
an estimate of what it would cost with the printer who did 
his Signs, which brings it only to £1^, including even 
prospectus. He swears positively that it can be done for 
this, and that a penny more will be cheating. On the other 
hand, the estimate given by the Tuppers is £1-3, for printing 
only, including, I think, paper. I am still waiting for a 
third estimate which Haynes, Hancock's friend, is to send 
me. Under these circumstances we must look out for as 
many proprietors as possible. I attended a meeting last 
night at Bliss's, where I had meant to bring up the subject 
and sound him. . . . For my part, I am certain that, as soon 
as the prospectus is printed, we shall be able, among the lot 
of us, to secure at least 250 subscribers before the thing is 
out at all, and this will be something. Tell Collinson, if he 
is writing to his brother, to ask him about the publishers' 
percentage. I have no doubt he could enlighten us. 

Stephens is writing for the first number an article on Early 
Art which I have not seen. Hunt is at his etching ; he is 
now tremendously agog about the thing. I know not exactly 
when we shall start on our tour — probably next week. The 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 849. 5 I 

fact is, we ought not by rights to go at all. Hunt's back- 
ground is still detaining him. Brown was in town for a day, 
but is gone back again. 

The other night I was at Dickinson's, where I met 
Williams, who has lent me a tale by Wells not contained 
in the Stories after Nature ; as also a poem by Linton on 
the affairs of Rome. I have not yet read it. 

I have done but little in any way, having wasted several 
days at the Museum, where I have been reading up all 
manner of old romaunts, to pitch upon stunning words for 
poetry. I have found several, and also derived much en- 
joyment from the things themselves, some of which are 
tremendously fine. I have copied out an exquisite little 
ballad, quoted in the preface to one of the collections. 

I bought the other day the original editions of the lyrical 
numbers of the Bells and Pomegranates, which you remember 
contain variations ; also Home's Orion (original edition) and 
Death of Marlowe ; also (for 5^-.) a translation, in two volumes, 
of the Gesta Romanoruin — a book I had long wished to possess. 
I was however rather disappointed, having expected to find 
lots of glorious stories for poems. Four or five good ones 
there are ; one of which (which I have entitled The Scrip and 
Staff) I have considerably altered, and enclose for your 
opinion, together with another plot of my own devising. 
Both of these I contemplate versifying when free of existing 
nightmares. Tell me what you think thereof; and please 
to return them with your answer, as I may want them. Let 
me also have Collinson's verdict. I have only written twelve 
stanzas of Bride-Chamber Talk since your departure ; but 
hope to get through some more to-night before going to bed. 
I want to know all about your poem — what the plot is, 
and how much you have written. By-the-bye, 1 added three 
stanzas yesterday to My Sister's Sleep, which I think were 
wanted as stop-gaps. I wish if possible to have this in No. i. 
What is Collinson after ? I suppose (ahem !) he works 
like a horse ; of course I mean a Jerusalem pony. I hope 
to follow up this delicate compliment with a letter as soon 


as possible ; meanwhile remember my brotherhood to him. 
Millais is still in the country. Write soon. 

Dante G. Rossetti. 

P.S. — Going downstairs to get your address, I find Collinson 
there, whose projected return I had quite forgotten. He has 
given me a vagueish notion of what you are writing. Let 
me hear from you iimnediately, as Woolner and I are going 
forthwith into the country somewhere for a few days, and, if 
accounts are good, the vine-branches of your rhetoric might 
induce us to go up into the land and possess it with you. 


Some sonnets of mine are referred to in this letter. Her First 
Season appears printed in The Germ. It was a bouts-rimes per- 
formance. The sonnets on Death were earlier by, 1 think, a year 
or two. They have never been inflicted on the public eye. My 
sister's sonnet Vanity Fair was a sportive effusion also done to 
bouts-rif?ies, and likely now to be soon published. " A prospectus 
of the Thoughts " means " a prospectus of the Thoughts towards 
Nature " — this being the sub-title (at that date the intended title) 
of The Germ magazine. " Woolner's poems " included no doubt 
My Beautiful Lady, printed in the first number of The Germ. 

[London]. Mo?iday [24 September 1849]. 

Dear William, 

Coming to Woolner's at the moment of his receiving 
your last, I undertake (in consequence of a miserable pro- 
stration produced in him by unmanly sloth) to answer it 
for him. 

In the matter of editorship, your objections are, I think, 
set at rest by the fact that we have excluded from the title 
the words " Conducted by Artists." You are thus on exactly 
the same footing as all other contributors. The publishers 
(whose names appear in the prospectus) are Messrs. Aylott 
and Jones, who were found on enquiry to be highly respect- 
able. The prospectus is now at the printer's, and in a day 
or two I expect to send you a copy. Patmore, to whom it 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 849- 53 

was shown, seemed considerably impressed in its favour, and 
was even induced thereby (open thine ears, eyes, or whatever 
other organs may be most available) to contribute for the 
first number a little poem of three stanzas called The Seasons, 
which I copy here, not to inflict on you the agony of hope 

" The crocus, in the shrewd March morn, 
Thrusts up his saffron spear ; 
And April dots the sombre thorn 
With gems and loveliest cheer. 

"Then sleep the Seasons, full of might, 

While slowly swells the pod, 
"And rounds the peach, and in the night 

The mushroom bursts the sod. 

" The Winter falls ; the frozen rut 
Is bound with silver bars ; 
The white drift heaps against the hut ; 
And night is pierced with stars." 

Stunning, is it not? But unluckily we are not to publish 
his name, which he intends to keep back altogether from 
all articles until his new volume is out. Woolner showed 
him some of your sonnets, which he thought first-rate in 
many respects, but wanting in melody. The First Season 
he said was in all points quite equal to Wordsworth, except 
in this one. The sonnets on Death he admired as poetry, 
but totally eschewed as theory, so much so indeed that he 
says it prevented him from enjoying them in any regard. 
This of course will not keep you awake at nights, since 
Shelley was with you, and watches (perhaps) from his grave 
Mrs. Patmore was greatly pleased with Christina's poems. 
I do not think that Coventry himself read much of them, but 
he was delighted with the sonnet Vanity Fair. 

You seem to be getting on like fury with your poem. 
How the deuce can you manage to do 103 lines in a day ? 
I agree however with Woolner as regards your surgeon, who 
is a wretched sneak — quite a sniggering squelch of a fellow. 
Do something, by all means, to pull him out of his present 


For my part I have done scarcely anything — having been 
sadly knocked about in the matter of this prospectus and 
other bores. I wrote last night to W. B. Scott, returning 
him his books, and saying that I should send him a prospectus 
of the Thoughts in a few days, with a request for contributions 
in the poetical or literary line. 

I believe Hunt and self will start on Monday at the 
latest, so that I fear I may not see you. If you really think 
you will be up on Tuesday however, let me know, as I would 
then manage to defer our departure, and say good-bye to 
you personally. Moreover I long to hear your poem. I 
have done nothing to Hand and Soid. There is time how- 
ever, as I believe the first number is to be delayed yet a 
month, in order to have it out at Christmas, which every 
one thinks desirable. November is at present in the pro- 
spectus ; but when I get a proof I shall alter it to December. 
I was at Collinson's the other evening, who seems to have 
been disgracefully lazy at the Isle of Wight. Seddon, who 
knows that ilk well, says that you should go on to a place 
called Niton, about six miles from Ventnor, and by far the 
best in the Island. 

With respect to Woolner's poems, I can tell you that 
Patmore was stunned ; the only defect he found being that 
they were a trifle too much in earnest in the passionate 
parts, and too scidpturesque generally. He means by this 
that each stanza stands too much alone, and has its own 
ideas too much to itself I think you will agree with me 
in thinking this objection groundless, or at least irrelevant. 

Write soon. 


C lo. 

The project of visiting Brittany, " for the purpose of seeing Wells 
about his new edition " — i.e., a new edition oi Joseph and his Brethren, 
which my brother hankered after — did not take effect. The P.S. 
refers to my drawing — which I did on and off for a short while — from 
the living model, along with some other students. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 849. 55 

[London.] Tnesday [25 September 1849]. 

Dear William, 

I find that by delaying our departure I should be 
inconveniencing Hunt. I therefore start with him for France 
and Belgium on Thursday at half-past one, without going at 
all into the country with Woolner. Either going or on our 
return we shall visit Brittany, if possible, for the purpose of 
seeing Wells about his new edition. 

Even should the prospectuses be all printed before I go, I 
am almost certain of not finding time to send any of them 
about. Would you therefore undertake this job on your 
return to town, sending to every friend you can possibly 
think of, as well as to all literary men and artists of anything 
like our own views ? You must also look sharp about advertis- 
ing, a certain amount of which is unfortunately indispensable. 

I believe there is nothing more to be said. Farewell there- 
fore till such time as I see you again. 

Dante G. Rossetti. 

Seddon is anxious to know whether you intend joining in 
the model at his place. When in town, just write him a word 
or two about this matter. A note to T. Seddon Esq. Jun., 
Gray's Inn Road, will reach him. 

C II. 

My brother was very averse from the idea of having, after his 
death, anything published which he had rejected as juvenile or 
inferior. When I was compiling his Collected Works, published at 
the end of x886, I felt that some of the verses which appear in his 
letters of this period were fully good enough for insertion there. 
Other verses I have omitted from the Collected Works, but they do 
not seem to me unfitted to figure here, as forming a portion of his 

At the end of the first snatch of blank verse, the last two fine lines 
may be recognized as having been utilized, in a somewhat altered 
form, in the poem which he himself published. The Portrait. He 
afterwards altered them in the blank verse, but I retain them here. 
The lines at Boulogne, " The sea is in its listless chime," etc., have 


also appeared in a revised form, and constitute one of my brother's 
most impressive lyrics. In all these descriptive verses, about railway- 
travelling, etc., the reader will readily perceive that the writer was 
bent on the Prteraphaelite plan — that of sharply realizing an impres- 
sion on the eye, and through the eye on the mind. 

Between London and Paris. 

Thursday 27 September 1849. 

{Half-past one to half-past five?) 
A CONSTANT keeping-past of shaken trees, 
And a bewildered glitter of loose road ; 
Banks of bright growth, with single blades atop 
Against white sky; and wires— a constant chain — 
That seem to draw the clouds along with them 
(Things which one stoops against the light to see 
Through the low window ; sliaking by at rest, 
Or fierce like water as the swiftness grows) ; 
And, seen through fences or a bridge far off. 
Trees that in moving keep their intervals 
Still one 'twixt bar and bar ; and then at times 
Long reaches of green level, where one cow, 
Feeding among her fellows that feed on, 
Lifts her slow neck, and gazes for the sound. 

There are six of us : I that write away ; 

Hunt reads Dumas, hard-lipped, with heavy jowl 

And brows hung low, and the long ends of hair 

Standing out limp. A grazier at one end 

(Thank luck not my end I) has blocked out the air, 

And sits in heavy consciousness of guilt. 

The poor young muff who's face to face with me. 

Is pitiful in loose collar and black tie. 

His latchet-button shaking as we go. 

There are flowers by me, half upon my knees, 

Owned by a dame who's fair in soul, no doubt : 

The wind that beats among us carries off 

Their scent, but still I have them for my eye. 

Fields mown in ridges ; and close garden-crops 
Of the earth's increase ; and a constant sky 
Still with clear trees that let you see the wind; 
And snatches of the engine-smoke, by fits 
Tossed to the wind against the landscape, where 
Rooks stooping heave their wings upon the day 


Brick walls we pass between, passed so at once 
That for the suddenness I cannot know 
Or what, or where begun, or where at end. 
Sometimes a Station in grey quiet ; whence, 
With a short gathered champing of pent sound. 
We are let out upon the air again. 
Now nearly darkness; knees and arms and sides 
Feel the least touch, and close about the face 
A wind of noise that is along like God. 
Pauses of water soon, at intervals. 
That has the sky in it; — the reflexes 
O' the trees move towards the bank as we go by. 
Leaving the water's surface plain. I now 
Lie back and close my eyes a space; for they 
Smart from the open forwardness of thought 
Fronting the wind 

1 did not scribble more, 

Be certain, after this; but yawned, and read. 
And nearly dozed a little, I believe ; 
Till, stretching up against the carriage-back, 
I was roused altogether, and looked out 
To where, upon the desolate verge of light. 
Yearned, pale and vast, the iron-coloured sea. 


(6 to 9. — Rough passage.) 

" Darkness, as darkness itself, and as the shadow of death ; without any 
order, an9 where the light is as darkness."— yi?!^. 
" If ye know them, they are in the valley of the shadow of death." — /<5/df. 

Friday 28. 

The sea is in its listless chime, 

Like Time's lapse rendered audible ; 

The murmur of the earth's large shell. 
In a sad blueness beyond rhyme 

It ends ; Sense, without Thought, can pass 

No stadium further. Since Time was. 
This sound hath told the lapse of Time. 

No stagnance that Death wins, — it hath 
The mournfulness of ancient Life, 
Always enduring at dull strife. 


Like the world's heart, in calm and wrath, 
Its painful pulse is in the sands. 
Last utterly, the whole sky stands, 

Grey and not known, along its path. 


(3 /(? II P.M. ; 2)^d class.) 

Strong extreme speed, that the brain hurries with, 
Further than trees, and hedges, and green grass 
Whitened by distance, — further than small pools 
Held among fields and gardens, — further than 
Haystacks and windmill-sails and roofs and herds, — 
The sea's last margin ceases at the sun. 

The sea has left us, but the sun remains. 
Sometimes the country spreads aloof in tracts 
Smooth from the harvest ; sometimes sky and land 
Are shut from the square space the window leaves 
By a dense crowd of trees, stem behind stem 
Passing across each other as we pass : 
Sometimes tall poplar-wands stand white, their heads 
Outmeasuring the distant hills. Sometimes 
The ground has a deep greenness ; sometimes brown 
In stubble ; and sometimes no ground at all, 
For the close strength of crops that stand unreaped. 
The water-plots are sometimes all the sun's, — 
Sometimes quite green through shadows filling them. 
Or islanded with growths of reeds, — or else 
Masked in grey dust like the wide face o' the fields. 
And still the swiftness lasts ; that to our speed 
The trees seem shaken like a press of spears. 

There is some count of us : — folks travelling-capped, 
Priesthood, and lank hard-featured soldiery, 
Females (no women), blouses. Hunt, and I. 

We are relayed at Amiens. The steam 

Snorts, chafes, and bridles, like three-hundred horse, 

And flings its dusky mane upon the air. 

Our company is thinned, and lamps alight : 

But still there are the folks in travelling-caps — . 

No priesthood now, but always soldiery. 

And babies to make up for show in noise. 

Females (no women), blouses, Hunt, and I. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 849. 59 

Our windows at one side are shut for warmth. 

Upon the other side, a leaden sky, 

Hung in blank glare, makes all the country dim, 

Which too seems bald and meagre, — be it truth, 

Or of the waxing darkness. Here and there 

The shade takes light, where in thin patches stand 

The unstirred dregs of water. 

Hunt can see 
A moon, he says ; but I am too far back. 
Still the same speed and thunder. We are stopped 
Again, and speech tells clearer than in day. 

Hunt has just stretched to tell me that he fears 
I and my note-book may be taken for 
The stuff that goes to make an " emissaire 
De la perfide," Let me abate my zeal : 
There is a stout gendarme within the coach. 

This cursed pitching is too bad. My teeth 

Jingle together in it ; and my legs 

(Which I got wet at Boulogne this good day 

Wading for star-fish) are so chilled that I 

Would don my coat, were not these seats too hard 

To spare it from beneath me, and were not 

The love of ease less than the love of sloth. 

Hunt has just told me it is nearly eight : 
We do not reach till half-past ten. Drat verse. 
And steam, and Paris, and the fins of Time! 
Marry, for me, look you, I will go sleep. 

Most of them slept; I could not — held awake 

By jolting clamour, with shut eyes ; my head 

Willing to nod and fancy itself vague. 

Only at Stations I looked round me, when 

Short silence paused among us, and I felt 

A creeping in my feet from abrupt calm. 

At such times Hunt would jerk himself, and then 

Tumble uncouthly forward in his sleep. 

This lasted near three hours. The darkness now 

Stayeth behind us on the sullen road, 

And all this light is Paris. Dieu merci. 

Paris. Saturday Night, 29. 
Send me, dear William, by return of post. 
As much as you can manage of that rhyme 


Incurred at Ventnor. Bothers and delays 

Have still prevented me from copying this 

Till now ; now that I do so, let it be 

Anticipative compensation. 

Numero 4 Rue Geoffrey Marie, 

Faubourg Montraartre, pres des Boulevards. 

Dear William, labelled thus the thing will reach. 

C 12. 

This letter is an amusing example of the one-sided and in great 
part uninformed feeling about works of art which prevailed among 
the Praeraphaelites in their early days. My brother was now in the 
twenty-second year of his age. In later years he heartily admired 
Delacroix, and worshipped Michelangelo ; while for Hippolyte 
Flandrin he would have felt little beyond a tepid and critical 

The " monosyllable current amongst us " occurs further on in the 
letter — viz., slosh. This term (quasi slush) was applied to paintings 
of the over-facile and inaccurate kind. 

4 Rue Geoffroy Marie, Faubourg Montmartre, Paris. 
Thursday [4 October 1849]. 

Dear William, 

Send me your poem immediately, with no more delay 
than is quite unavoidable. Sit up all night copying, and 
send it. Copy it on thin large sheets in double coiumns 
(like my journal, which I posted the other day for the Isle 
of Wight, and which no doubt you can get by sending 
thither), and I have no doubt the postage will not be ruinous. 
I gather from the outside of your note that you paid \s. 3^. 
for it in London ; whereas Maria's (being, I presume, unpaid) 
reached me for sixteen sous. It is therefore evident that, 
unless the heavy postage was owing to the weight of your 
letter, it will be advisable to leave me to pay for letters. I 
presume that my journal (which, by-the-bye, is not in rhyme 
but in blank verse), as well as a joint letter from Hunt and 
self to Stephens and Woolner, will reach free of expense, as 
they were paid for here. Let me know about this, as it is 
as well to understand the postage. I should have paid for 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 849- 6 1 

the first note I sent to Maria, but it was too late in the 
day to do so. 

I am obliged to write this on English note-paper, as 
Hunt has ruined the last sheet of French we possessed by 
endeavouring to concoct an undecipherable monogram of 
P.R.B. to be signed to passports etc. The paper however 
is very thin, and I think will not incur additional postage. 

We have made the acquaintance here of two very nice 
French fellows, named Cotourrier and Levasseur. Perhaps 
Woolner remembers them as they do him. We climbed 
with them the other day to the very top of Notre Dame, 
whence we had a most glorious view of Paris, and shouted 
in the spirit. The Cathedral itself is inconceivably stunning, 
and contains most glorious things to put in pictures. While 
climbing, a sonnet came whole into my head, which however 
I have almost forgotten, owing to the hurry of the moment 
and the talk, I suppose. I am trying constantly to remember 
it, and will copy it in my next note if I succeed. 

There is also a little English cove here of the name of 
Broadie, who is very obliging and really rather clever. We 
see him a good deal. . . . 

I bought yesterday a great number of Gavarni's Charivari 
sketches at two sous each. I have no doubt of being able to 
pick up more. The number of book and print stalls is quite 
incredible. Hunt and I begin to like Paris immensely — the 
city itself, I mean. 

At the Luxembourg there are the following really wonderful 
pictures — viz., two by Delaroche, two by Robert-Fleury, one 
by Ingres, one by Hesse ; others by Scheffer, Granet, etc., are 
very good. The rest, with a few mediocre exceptions, we 
considered trash. Delacroix (except in two pictures which 
show a kind of savage genius) is a perfect beast, though 
almost worshipped here. The school of David got at first 
frightfully abused for m.aking a stand against him on his 
appearance. They were quite right, being themselves greatly 
his superiors, and indeed some of them men who I have no 
doubt would have done much better in better times. 


We ran hurriedly through the Louvre yesterday for the 
first time. Of course detail as yet is impossible, and indeed, 
to say the truth, there is a monosyllable current amongst 
us which enables a P.R.B. to dispense almost entirely with 
details on the subject. There is however a most wonderful 
copy of a fresco by Angelico, a tremendous Van Eyck, some 
mighty things by that real stunner Lionardo, some ineffably 
poetical Mantegnas (as different as day from night from 
what we have in England), several wonderful Early Christians 
whom nobody ever heard of, some tremendous portraits by 
some Venetian whose name I forget, and a stunning Francis I. 
by Titian. Gericault's Medusa is also very fine on the whole. 
We have not yet been through all the rooms. In one there 
is a ceiling by Ingres which contains some exceedingly good 
things. This fellow is quite unaccountable. One picture of 
his in the Luxembourg is unsurpassed for exquisite perfection 
by anything I have ever seen, and he has others there for 
which I would not give two sous — filthy slosh. I believe we 
have not yet seen any of Scheffer's best works. Delaroche's 
Hemicycle in the Beaux Arts is a marvellous performance. 
In the same place is a copy of Michelangelo's Judgment 
— an admirable copy, I believe, but one of the most comic 
performances I ever saw in my life. 

Now for the best. Hunt and I solemnly decided that the 
most perfect works, taken in toto, that we have seen in our 
lives, are two pictures by Hippolyte Flandrin (representing 
Christ's Entry into Jerusalem, and his departure to death) 
in the Church of S. Germain des Pres. Wonderful ! won- 
derful ! ! wonderful ! ! ! Tell Hancock of this. 

D. G. R. 

C 13. 

I ought perhaps to apologize for publishing the earlier portion of 
this letter, criticizing as it does with more than brotherly indulgence 
my blank-verse narrative poem Mrs. Holmes Grey. The feelings 
which have withheld me from cutting it out will no doubt be 


intelligible, in whole or in part, to the reader, and I will say no 
more on the subject. 

The informing idea of the poem was to apply to verse-writing the 
same principle of strict actuality and probability of detail which the 
Prseraphaelites upheld in their pictures. It was in short a Prge- 
raphaelite poem. The subject is a conversation about the death of 
a lady, a surgeon's wife, who had died suddenly in the house of 
another medical man for whom she had conceived a vehement and 
unreciprocated passion ; and a newspaper report of the coroner's 
inquest occupies a large space in the composition. At this time the 
proposed title of the piece was An Exchange of News. 

The sonnet on the Place de la Bastille, somewhat modified, is 
published in my brother's Ballads and Sonnets, 1881. That on the 
Venetian Pastoral by Giorgione, also modified, is in the Poems, 1870 
and 188 1. It had previously been printed in The Germ. In another 
sonnet occurs a reference to laziness on the part of Mr. Woolner. 
This is mostly a joke. From the sonnet on the Salle Valentino I 
have been compelled to omit some phrases which express, in terms 
unprintably energetic, the writer's disgust at the grossnesses of the 

Cottingham, mentioned towards the close of the letter, was an 
architect of some name. He showed a disposition to purchase 
something of my brother's, but never did so. Mr. Morrison was, 
I think, a landscape-painter. Signor Ronna was an Italian refugee 
in Paris, an old acquaintance of our Father. 

" The sonnets on Keats " were three poor sonnets of my own 
composition, and a better one by Christina. Possibly my brother 
did some also — now lost. 

[Rue Geoffroy Marie 4, Paris. 
Monday 8 October 1849.] 

Dear William, 

The arrival of your poem yesterday w^as about the 
best thing that has happened since my arrival here. I read 
it at once twice through, to the very great satisfaction of 
Hurit and myself. The points that we noted in any way 
especially I will now proceed to communicate. But first of 
all we both think that a better title might be found. I 
dare say you will manage to think of one. 


I do not know if you remember that at the beginning of 
the Eve of St. Mark there are the Hnes — 

"The city streets were cool and fair, 
From wholesome drench of April rains." 

This is Hke the beginning of your poem ; and, though of 
course the statement of a fact from observation cannot even 
be a reminiscence of what has been done before, still I think 
it is perhaps as well not to have at the very outset a line 
which some people might manage to draw conclusions from. 
The expression " ?is\\ flapping about " might I think be altered 
to something newer, and even more strikingly truthful. 

The 2nd paragraph is excellent ; the 3rd is good. In the 
speech of Harling (4th paragraph) I think some little bright 
detail might still be introduced to increase the force. The 
5th is admirable — last line especially so. In the 6th the 
word rustling is rather old, and the last line a trifle common 
and awkward. In the 7th I see no necessity for second line, 
which I think makes too much of a trifling point in so 
serious a poem. Would not " Loosed itself and touched along 
his forehead" etc. be quite sufficient? Both Hunt and I 
thought you might alter "Something at a window." It is 
rather melodramatic perhaps. "What was at a window" 
suggested itself to me, but I believe this is too Tennysonian. 
In the 8th I do not like the position of the man altogether ; 
it seems a little violent. One can fancy some of the Adelphi 
people doing it. The 9th and nth will do very well; the 
loth is first-rate. In the 12th, I think (as they had been 
always in correspondence) that Harling might in some way 
allude to their letters — quite slightly of course, by a word. 
At present it seems rather abrupt, and at first looks as if 
they had known nothing whatever of each other for years. 
In the 13th the "Sir" belongs, as of course you must be 
aware, to the French school of ultra-metaphysics. 14th to 
2ist all capital. The last line of the 22nd appears to me 
scarcely in character with Grey. I have something of the 
same sort in my Bride-Chamber Talk, but I will have the 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 849. 65 

cheek to say that I think it is there more appropriate to the 
personage. 23rd excellent. The line composing 24th seems 
rather common. What do you think of " that his laugh 
troubled him," or " It seemed to Harling the laugh was not 
his"? 25th admirable. Perhaps at the end "I am one" 
would be more absolutely conversational than " I am such." 
26th capital ; 27th first-rate ; 28th excellent ; 29th and 30th 
very good, ■ except that the lady would be employed in a 
more feminine and I believe equally natural manner, were 
she helping the wounded instead of fighting. 31st and 32nd 
very good ; perhaps the last two lines a little crackjaw. In 
the 33rd the "divided into oblongs" business reads as trivial. 
The last line of 34th a little common. 35th very good. 
Something newer, I think, might be done at the end of 
36th. There might be, especially in Grey, a kind of shaking 
of the jaw and pressing into the clavicle which could be made 
very fine. 37th excellent ; 38th remarkably fine. 39th not 
quite so good. 40th and on as far as the inquest exceed- 
ingly powerful. I think certainly that the piece about the 
lilac dress and the hair is rather Gallically introduced, and 
Hunt remarked that the " worn plain " is an expression more 
likely to be used by a woman than a man. 

Now for the inquest. I do not think that " disclosures 
extraordinary " is the newspaper phrase, but " extraordinary 
disclosures." If so, I would be careful to alter this, as it may 
be taken for a poetical inversion. " The worthy coroner " is 
a little strong ; but I shall not argue this, as no doubt you 
consider it the hinge of the poem. At " accommodated with 
a chair" Hunt suggested "a seat" instead, as being a trifle 
less comic. "A something trembled at her lips" appears to 
me, on the other hand, too poetical for evidence. In my 
copy the line " So she assured that should come to pass " has 
had some syllable omitted by mistake, I suppose. There is 
one man in England who will understand the phrase " the 
living-up of her old love": his name is Alfred Tennyson. 
If you write for any other Englishman, this must be cut out. 
" That in the first letter you sent deceased " is rather a harsh 
VOL. n, 5 


line. All the passage about the familiarities looks rather 
ambiguous. I do not know whether you mean it to be so. 
In the woman's letter, the "looking strange" Hunt suggested 
might be altered to some impression which she could more 
clearly realize to herself. I however do not feel certain as to 
this. The Christ business is very good as it is, and the line 
about the stone has also something appropriate in it. The 
following adaptation suggested itself to me, as uniting the 
qualities of both : — 

"And prayed of Christ (he knowing how it was) 
That, if this thing were sinful unto death, 
He would himself be first to throw the stone. 
So then I entered," etc. 

Your inquest is, on the whole, I think, a very clever and 
finished piece of writing, — wonderfully well-managed in parts 
and possessing some strong points of character. The woman's 
letter is exceedingly truthful and fine. The rest of the poem 
is very first-rate indeed — some passages really stunning. 
Hunt suggested that " Who ever heard of Br. Luton yet ? " 
would more thoroughly explain Grey's intention, and I fancy 
he is right. True, Luton is a surgeon, but surgeons are con- 
stantly called doctors by courtesy. I am not certain whether 
a few additional lines after the last one would not finish the 
poem more soberly. 

I will now sum up, with " the worthy coroner." I think 
your poem is very remarkable, and altogether certainly the 
best thing you have done. It is a painful story, told without 
compromise, and with very little moral, I believe, beyond 
commonplaces. Perhaps it is more like Crabbe than any 
other poet I know of ; not lacking no small share of his harsh 
reality — less healthy, and at times more poetical. I would 
advise you, if practicable, to show it to any medical man at 
hand — Dr. Hare, for instance. He might discover some 
absurdity which escapes us, or suggest something of value to 
the story. 

Now for myself. I am ashamed to declai:e I have nothing 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 849. 6j 

yet to offer you in return for your 700 lines but " quelques 
inkhants sonnets " — real humbugs, which it is almost absurd 
to send, lest they should be taken for a compensation. 
Moreover one or two of them are sloshy in the rhymes of the 
first half I think however I could find authorities among 
the early Italians. Here is the one which came into my head 
on the staircase of Notre Dame, and which I have since 
remembered, though I fancy with some deterioration. 

As one who, groping in a narrow stair, 

Hath a strong sound of bells upon his ears, 
Which, being at a distance off, appears 

Quite close to him because of the pent air ; 

So with this France. She stumbles file and square, 
Darkling and without space for breath : each one 
Who hears the thunder says, " It shall anon 

Be in among her ranks to scatter her." 

This may be ; and it may be that the storm 
Is spent in rain upon the unscathed seas, 
Or wasteth other countries ere it die : 

Till she, — having climbed always through the swarm 
Of darkness and of hurtling sound, — from these 
Shall step forth on the light in a still sky. 

I forget whether I told you that it was the ringing of the 
bells as we climbed the staircase which gave me this valuable 

The other day we walked to the Place de la Bastille. Hunt 
and Broadie smoked their cigars, while I, in a fine frenzy 
conjured up by association and historical knowledge, leaned 
against the Column of July, and composed the following 
sonnet : — 

How dear the sky hath been above this place ! 
Small treasures of this sky that we see here, 
Seen weak through prison-bars from year to year — 

Eyed with a painful prayer upon God's grace 

To save, and tears which stayed along the face 
Lifted till the sun went. How passing dear 
At night when through those bars a wind left clear 

The skies and moonlight made a mournful space ! 


This was until, one night, the secret kept 
Safe in low vault and stealthy corridor 

Was blown abroad on a swift wind of flame. 
Above, God's sky and God are still the same ; 
It may be that as many tears are wept 
Beneath, and that man is but as of yore. 

I find I must adopt the plan of writing only on one side 
for it is candle-light now, and I cannot see distinctly. 

The other day, pondering on the rate of locomotion which 
the style of the old masters induces in us at the Louvre, I 
scribbled as follows : — 

Woolner and Stephens, Collinson, Millais, 
And my first brother, each and every one, 
What portion is theirs now beneath the sun 

Which, even as here, in England makes to-day ? 

For most of them life runs not the same way 
Always, but leaves the thought at loss : I know 
Merely that Woolner keeps not even the show 

Of work, nor is enough awake for play. 

Meanwhile Hunt and myself race at full speed 

Along the Louvre, and yawn from school to school, 
Wishing worn-out those masters known as old. 

And no man asks of Browning; though indeed 
(As the book travels with me) any fool 

Who would might hear Sordello's 'story told. 

There are very few good things at the Louvre besides 
what I mentioned in my last. There is a wonderful head by 
Raphael however ; another wonderful head by . I know not 
whom ; and a pastoral — at least, a kind of pastoral — by 
Giorgione, which is so intensely fine that I condescended to 
sit down before it and write a sonnet. You must have heard 
me rave about the engraving before, and I fancy have seen 
it yourself There is a woman, naked, at one side, who is 
dipping a glass vessel into a well ; and in the centre two men 
and another naked woman, who seem to have paused for a 
moment in playing on the musical instruments which they 
hold. Here is my sonnet : — 

F/VMILV-LETTERS -- 1 849. 69 

Water, for anguish of the solstice, — yea, 

Over the vessel's mouth still widening, 

Listlessly dipped to let the water in 
With low vague gurgle. Blue, and deep away, 
The heat lies silent at the brink of day. 

The hand trails weak upon the viol-string 

That sobs ; and the brown faces cease to sing, 
Mournful with complete pleasure. Her eyes stray 
In distance; through her lips the pipe doth creep 

And leaves them pouting: the green shadowed grass 
Is cool against her naked flesh. Let be: 
Do not now speak unto her lest she weep,— 

Nor name this ever. Be it as it was: 
' Silence of heat, and solemn poetry. 

Last night we went to Valentino's to see the cancan. As 
the groups whirled past us, one after another, in an ecstasy 
of sound and motion, I became possessed with a tender 
rapture and recorded it in rhyme as follows :— 

(N.B.— The numerical characteristics refer to the danseuses.) 

The first, a mare; the second, 'twixt bow-wow 
And pussy-cat, a cross; the third, a beast 
To baffle Buffon ; the fourth, not the least 

In hideousness, nor last; the fifth, a cow; 

The sixth, Chimera ; the seventh. Sphinx ; . . . Come now, 
One woman, France, ere this frog-hop have ceased, . 
And it shall be enough. A toothsome feast 

Of blackguardism . . . and bald row, 

No doubt for such as love those same. For me, 

I confess, William, and avow to thee, 
(Soft in thine ear) that such sweet female whims 

* .. * 

Are not a passion of mine naturally. . . 

* * * . , * * - . * . _ 

This sonnet is rather emphatic, I know ; but, I assure you, 
excusable under the circumstances. My dear sir, we have 
not seen six pretty faces since we have been at Paris, and 
those such as would not be in the least remarkable in London. 
As for the ball last night, it was matter for spueing ; there 
IS a slang idiocy about the habitues, viler than gentism. And 


the females . . . my God ! As for Gavarni, he is a liar and 
the father of it. 

I bought some more of his things the other day, and have 
got a great number now — more than I care to count. I wish, 
if you have leisure, you would go to Brown's study, and look 
up, among our portfolios there, all such Gavarnis as they may 
contain — since on my arrival in London I will get them 
bound into a volume with those I have bought here ; and it 
is as well they should not go knocking about among all the 
jumble of those same portfolios any longer, as the paper of 
them is somewhat frail. 

Hunt and I have likewise bought three stunning etchings 
by Albert Durer, and one or two other little things. 

The other night we went to the Gaite to see a piece called 
La Sonnette du Diable, which is an adaptation of Soulie's 
Menioires. It was most execrably played, and so stupefied 
us that we lost ourselves in coming home. 

P.S. — The other night we were inexpressibly astounded by 
Rachel, in a piece by Scribe called Adrienne Lecouvreur. 

I am indeed rejoiced to hear that Papa is so much better. 
I shall write to him immediately almost ; also to Cottingham, 
with whom I ought by rights to have communicated before 
leaving London. 

Stephens must have forgotten that he himself and Hunt, 
as well as I, were at first all agog for the title of P.R.B. 
Journal, though we afterwards all abandoned it. As for the 
sonnets on Keats, I cannot see any call for their appearance 
in No. I. As for our title, I think "towards" is much the 
better — " toward " being altogether between you, me, and 
Tennyson ; and it is well to seem as little affected as possible, 

I suppose you have by this time got over the insane 
exultation incident on '^wdXwg J oseph and his Brethren, which 
Williams brought, together with the Stories, the night before 
we left. The latter I have taken with me, as they might 
possibly be wanted somehow in case we see Wells. Love to 
our family, the P.R.B., and all. We have not yet delivered 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 849. 7 1 

the letters of Messrs. Brown and Morrison, nor the one from 
Papa to Ronna ; but shall do so as soon as possible. I hope 
Brown is well, and trust to write to him very shortly. 

C 14. 

The sonnets on the picture of Ruggiero and Angelica by Ingres 
were published in The Germ, and afterwards in my brother's Poems. 
The Last Sonnets at Paris show— what indeed was very marked 
throughout his life — that my brother was in many respects an 
Englishman in grain — and even a prejudiced Englishman. He was 
quite as ready as other Britons to reckon to the discredit of French- 
men, and generally of foreigners, a certain shallow and frothy 
demonstrativeness ; too ready, I always thought. In the prose part 
of his present letter, the phrase "a lot of scientific and industrial 
silliness " bewrays another weak point — his constitutional indifference, 
or indeed dislike, to anything that had not an artistic or imaginative 
appeal. However, the phrase must not be taken overmuch ate pied 
de la lettre. " Hans Hemmling " (named in one of the blank-verse 
pieces) means " Memling " : my brother at this date supposed 
" Hemmling " to be the correct name — and indeed I fancy the 
right spelling was then a matter of dispute. 

Lyell, named as the destined recipient of a prospectus of T/ie 
Germ, was Mr. Charles Lyell, godfather to my brother. 

" The Bermondsey murder " was the notorious affair which 
brought Mr. and Mrs. Manning to the scaffold. My brother always, 
or at any rate until the last few years of his life, took a certain 
interest in "horrid murders." 


The Cry of the P.R.B., after a careful Examination of the 
Canvases of Rubens, Correggio, et hoc genus otnne. 

Nan noi pittori! God of Nature's truth, 

If these, not we ! Be it not said, when one 

Of us goes hence : " As these did, he hath done ; 

His feet sought out their footprints from his youth." 

Because, dear God ! the flesh Thou madest smooth 
These carked and fretted, that it seemed to run 
With ulcers ; and the dayhght of thy sun 

They parcelled into blots and glares, uncouth 


With stagnant grouts of paint. Men say that these 
Had further sight than man's, but that God saw 

Their works were good. God that didst know them foul ! 
In such a blindness, blinder than the owl, 
Leave us! Our sight can reach unto thy seas 
And hills ; and 'tis enough for tears of awe. 

Roger Rescuing Angelica; by Ingres. 

A remote sky, that meeteth the sea's brim ; 
One rock-point standing buffeted alone, 
Vexed at its base with a foul beast unknown, 

Hell-spurge of geomaunt and teraphim : 

A knight, and a winged creature bearing him, 
Reared at the rock : a woman fettered there. 
Leaning into the hollow with loose hair 

And throat let back and heartsick trail of limb. 

The sky is harsh, and the sea shrewd and salt. 
Under his lord the griffin-horse ramps blind 

With rigid wings and tail. The spear's lithe stem 
Stands in the roaring of those jaws ; behind, 

The evil length of body chafes at halt. 

She doth not hear nor see — she knows of them. 


Clench thine eyes now, — 'tis the last instant, girl : 
Draw in thy senses, loose thy knees, and shake : 
Set thy breath fast : thy life is keen awake, — 

Thou mayst not swoon. Was that the scattered whirl 

Of its foam drenched thee? or the waves that curl 
And split — bleak spray wherein thy temples ache? 
Or was it his thy champion's blood, to flake 

That flesh which has the colour of fine pearl? 

Now silence : for the sea's is such a sound 
As irks not silence, and except the sea 

All is now stilL Now the dead thing doth cease 
To writhe, and drifts. He turns to her; and she, 

Cast from the jaws of Death, remains there bound, 
Again a woman in her nakedness. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 849. 73 


Chins that might serve the new Jerusalem ; 

Streets footsore ; minute whisking milliners, 

Dubbed graceful, but at whom one's eye demurs, 
Knowing of England ; ladies, much the same ; 
Bland smiling dogs with manes — a few of them 

At pains to look like sporting characters ; 

Vast humming tabbies smothered in their furs ; 
Groseille, orgeat, meringues a la creme — ■ 
Good things to study ; ditto bad — the maps 

Of sloshy colour in the Louvre ; cinq-fraiics 

The largest coin ; and at the restaurants 
Large Ibrahim Pachas in Turkish caps 

To pocket them. Un million d' habitants: 
Cast up, they'll make an Englishman — perhaps. 


Tiled floors in bedrooms ; trees (now run to seed- 
Such seed as the wind takes) of Liberty ; 
Squares with new names that no one seems to see ; 
Scrambling Briarean passages, which lead 
To the first place you came from ; urgent need 
Of unperturbed nasal philosophy; 
Through Paris (what with church and gallery) 
Some forty first-rate paintings, — or indeed 
Fifty mayhap ; fine churches ; splendid inns ; 
Fierce sentinels (toy-size without the stands) 

Who spit their oaths at you and grind their r's 
If at a fountain you would wash your hands ; 
One Frenchman (this is fact) who thinks he spars : 
Can even good dinners cover all these sins ? 


Yet in the mighty French metropolis 

Our time has not gone from us utterly 

In waste. The wise man saith, " An ample fee 
For toil, to work thine end." Aye that it is. 
Should England ask, "Was narrow prejudice 

Stretched to its utmost point unflinchingly. 

Even unto lying, at all times, by ye ? " 
We can say firmly: "Lord, thou knowest this 


Our soil may own us." Having but small French 
Hunt passed for a stern Spartan all the while, 
Uncompromising, of few words : for me— 
I think I was accounted generally 
A fool, and just a little cracked. Thy smile 
May light on us, Britannia, healthy wench. 


(ii P.M. 15 October to half-past i p.m. 16.) 

Proem at the Paris Station. 

In France (to baffle thieves and murderers) 

A journey takes two days of passport work 

At least. The plan's sometimes a tedious one, 

But bears its fruit. Because, the other day. 

In passing by the Morgue, we saw a man 

(The thing is common, and we never should 

Have known of it, only we passed that way) 

Who had been stabbed and tumbled in the Seine, 

Where he had stayed some days. The face was black. 

And, like a negro's, swollen ; all the flesh 

Had furred, and broken into a green mould. 

Now, very likely, he who did the job 

Was standing among those who stood with us. 

To look upon the corpse. You fancy him — 

Smoking an early pipe, and watching, as 

An artist, the effect of his last work. 

This always if it had not struck him that 

'Twere best to leave while yet the body took 

Its crust of rot beneath the Seine. It may : 

But, if it did not, he can now remain 

Without much fear. Only, if he should want 

To travel, and have not his passport yet, 

(Deep dogs these French police !) he may be caught. 

Therefore you see (lest, being murderers, 
We should not have the sense to go before 
The thing were known, or to stay afterwards) 
There is good reason whj' — liaving resolved 
To start for Belgium — we were kept three days 
To learn about the passports first, then do 
As we had learned. This notwithstanding, in 
The fullness of the time 'tis come to pass. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 849. 75 


October, and eleven after dark : 

Both mist and night. Among us in the coach 

Packed heat on which the windows have been shut: 

Our backs unto the motion — Hunt's and mine. 

The last lamps of the Paris Station move 

Slow with wide haloes past the clouded pane ; 

The road in secret empty darkness. One 

Who sits beside me, now I turn, has pulled 

A nightcap to his eyes. A woman here, 

Knees to my knees — a twenty-nine-year-old — 

Smiles at the mouth I open, seeing him : 

I look her gravely in the jaws, and write. 

Already while I write heads have been leaned 

Upon the wall, — the lamp that's overhead 

Dropping its shadow to the waist and hands. 

Some time 'twixt sleep and wake. A dead pause then. 

With giddy humming silence in the ears. 

It is a Station. Eyes are opening now, 

And mouths collecting their propriety. 

From one of our two windows, now drawn up, 

A lady leans, hawks a clear throat, and spits. 

Hunt lifts his head from my cramped shoulder where 
It has been lying — long stray hairs from it 
Crawling upon my face and teazing me. 
Ten minutes' law. Our feet are in the road. 
A weak thin dimness at the sky, whose chill 
Lies vague and hard. The mist of crimson heat 
Hangs, a spread glare, about our engine's bulk. 
I shall get in again, and sleep this time. 

A heavy clamour that fills up the brain 
Like thought grown burdensome; and in the ears 
Speed that seems striving to o'ertake itself; 
And in the pulses torpid life, which shakes 
As water to a stir of wind beneath. 

Poor Hunt, who has the toothache and can't smoke. 
Has asked me twice for brandy. I would sleep ; 
But man proposes, and no more. I sit 
With open eyes, and a head quite awake, 
But which keeps catching itself lolled aside 
And looking sentimental. In the coach. 
If any one tries talking, the voice jolts. 
And stuns the ear that stoops for it. 


Half-ati-hour's rest. Another shivering walk 
Along the station, waiting for the bell. 
Ding-dong. Now this time, by the Lord, I'll sleep. 

I must have slept some while. Now that I wake. 

Day is beginning in a kind of haze 

White with grey trees. The hours have had their lapse. 

A sky too dull for cloud. A country lain 

In fields, where teams drag up the furrow yet ; 

Or else a level of trees, the furthest ones 

Seen like faint clouds at the horizon's point. 

Quite a clear distance, though in vapour. Mills 

That turn with the dry wind. Large stacks of hay 

Made to look bleak. Dead autumn, and no sun. 

The smoke upon our course is borne so near 
Along the earth, the earth appears to steam. 
Blanc-Misseron, the last French Station, passed. 
We are in Belgium. It is just the same : — 
Nothing to write of, and no good in verse. 

Curse the big mounds of sand-weed ! curse the miles 
Of barren chill,— the twentyfold relays ! 
Curse every beastly Station on the road ! 

As well to write as swear. Hunt was just now 

Making great eyes because outside the pane 

One of the stokers passed whom he declared 

A stunner. A vile mummy with a bag 

Is squatted next me: a disgusting girl 

Broad opposite. We have a poet, though. 

Who is a gentleman, and looks like one ; 

Only he seems ashamed of writing verse, 

And heads each new page with " Mo7i cher Ami." 

Hunt's stunner has just come into the coach, 

And set us hard agrin from ear to ear. 

Another Station. There's a stupid horn 
Set wheezing. Now I should just like to know 
— Just merely for the whim — what good that is. 
These Stations for the most part are a kind 
Of London coal-merchant's back premises ; 
Whitewashed, but as by hands of coal-heavers ; 
Grimy themselves, and always circled in 
With foul coke-loads that make the nose aroint. 


Here is a Belgian village, — no, a town 
Moated and buttressed. Next, a water-track 
Lying with draggled reeds in a flat slime. 
Next, the old country, always all the same. 
Now by Hans Hemmling and by John Van Eyck, 
You'll find, till something's new, I write no more. 

(4 HOURS.) 

There is small change of country ; but the sun 
Is out, and it seems shame this were not said : 
For upon all the grass the warmth has caught ; 
And betwixt distant whitened poplar-stems 
Makes greener darkness ; and in dells of trees 
Shows spaces of a verdure that was hid ; 
And the sky has its blue floated with white, 
And crossed with falls of the sun's glory aslant 
To lay vipon the waters of the world ; 
And from the road men stand with shaded eyes 
To look; and flowers in gardens have grown strong 
And our own shadows here within the coach 
Are brighter; and all colour has more bloom. 

So, after the sore torments of the route : — 
Toothache, and headache, and the ache of wind, 
And huddled sleep, and smarting wakefulness, 
And night, and day, and hunger sick at food, 
And twentyfold relays, and packages 
To be unlocked, and passports to be found, 
And heavy well-kept landscape ; — we were glad 
Because we entered Brussels in the sun. 


It's copied out at last : very poor stuff 
Writ in the cold, with pauses of the cramp. 
Direct, dear William, to the Poste Restante 
At Ghent — here written Gand. , . . 
We go to Antwerp first, but shall not stay; 
After, to Ghent and Bruges ; and after that 
To Ostend, and thence home. To Waterloo 
Was yesterday. Thither, and there, and back, 
I managed to scrawl something, — most of it 
Bad, and the sonnet at the close mere slosh. 
'Twas only made because I was knocked up. 
And it helped yawning. Take it, and the rest. 



(En vigilante, 2 hours.) 

It is grey tingling azure overhead 

With silver drift. Beneath, where from the green 
The trees are reared, the distance stands between 

At peace: and on this side the whole is spread 

For sowing and for harvest, subjected 

Clear to the sky and wind. The sun's slow height ' 
Holds it through noon, and at the furthest night 

It lies to the moist starshine and is fed. 

Sometimes there is no country seen (for miles 
You think) because of the near roadside path 

Dense with long forest. Where the waters run 
They have the sky sunk into them— a bath 

Of still blue heat; and in their flow, at whiles, 
There is a blinding vortex of the sun. 


The turn of noontide has begun. 

In the weak breeze the sunshine yields. 

There is a bell upon the fields. 
On the long hedgerow's tangled run 

A low white cottage intervenes : 

Against the wall a blind man leans, 
And sways his face to have the sun. 

Our horses' hoofs stir in the road, 
Quiet and sharp. Light hath a song 
Whose silence, being heard, seems long. 

The point of noon maketh abode. 

And will not be at once gone through. 
The sky's deep colour saddens you, 

And the heat weighs a dreamy load. 


So then, the name which travels side by side 
With English life from childhood— Waterloo- 
Means this. The sun is setting. "Their strife grew 

Till the sunset, and ended," says our guide. 

It lacked the "chord" by stage-use sanctified, 
Yet I believe one should have thrilled. For me, 
I grinned not, and 'twas something ;— certainly 

These held their point, and did not turn but died : 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 849- 79 

So much is very well. " Under each span 

Of these ploughed fields" ('tis the guide still) "there rot 
Three nations' slain, a thousand-thousandfold." 
Am I to weep ? Good sirs, the earth is old : 
Of the whole earth there is no single spot 
But hath among its dust the dust of man. 


Upon a Flemish road, when noon was deep, 

I passed a little consecrated shrine, 

Where, among simple pictures ranged in line, 
The blessed Mary holds her child asleep. 
To kneel here, shepherd-maidens leave their sheep 

When they feel grave because of the sunshine, 

And again kneel here in the day's decline ; 
And here, when their life ails them, come to weep. 
Night being full, I passed on the same road 

By the same shrine ; within, a lamp was lit 
Which through the silence of clear darkness glowed. 
Thus, when life's heat is past and doubts arise 

Darkling, the lamp of Faith must strengthen it, 

Which sometimes will not light and sometimes dies. 


[i8 October 1849.] 

Dear William, 

I have been thinking whether Brussels offers materials 
for a sonnet, but have come to the conclusion that not even 
thus much is to be got out of its utter muffishness. I will 
therefore fill this last column with as much prose as I can 
afford you. However, the verse must stand for a letter this 
time ; though, with the exception of two or three of the 
sonnets, I fear it is not even so good as what I have already 
sent you. The fact is, a journey in fair and foul weather are 
two very different things, and the verse gets its measure of 
estro accordingly. But I will not grunt about past evils, for 
the weather, these days in Brussels, has been like the finest 

There is a most servile aping of the French here, notwith- 
standing that they seem to be held in hatred. The English 
are victimized to a beastly extent everywhere. One of the 
great nuisances at this place,-as also at Waterloo ,is the plague 


of guides, from which there is no escape. The one we had at 
Waterloo completely baulked me of all the sonnets I had 
promised myself, so that all I accomplished was the embryo 
bottled up in the preceding column. Between you and me, 
William, Waterloo is simply a bore. 

I believe we saw all the town to-day, except a lot of 
scientific and industrial silliness, and one room at the Museum 
which we perceived was full of Rubenses, and so held aloof 
There are a few very fine early German pictures, among them 
a wonderful Van Eyck. I believe we shall see no end of these 
stunning things at Antwerp, Ghent, etc. ; and, as I am con- 
vinced they will drag me into rhyme, I almost fear that I 
shall not do much, if anything, to Bride- Chamber Talk till 
my return. Before leaving Paris, we went to the Hotel de 
Cluny, a first-rate place, which will be of great use to me 
in finishing this poem. Could I do it on the spot, 1 fancy I 
should be a made man. I fear there is no chance now of 
going to Brittany. 

All further matters concerning your poem we can discuss 
on my return, which will be much shorter work. I will only 
mention one thing which I forgot to include in my last. I 
think the penultimate line of the poem would perhaps be more 
forcible if it stood thus : " I can wait, John, but is not the 
zvhole due ? " 

You can have no conception of the intense sweating 
exasperation incident on passport-hunting. We had three 
days of it before leaving Paris. 

You talk about printing my blessed journal. I fear this 
would never do. There is too much of a kind of exclusive 
matter belonging only to ourselves ; and moreover, among 
the things I have written since leaving London, there are 
only three sonnets which have received any consideration — 
viz., the two on Ingres' picture, and the one On the Road to 
Waterloo — all in the present letter. 

I believe it is very probable that you will receive before 
my return a large volume of old Charivaris containing 
Gavarni's sketches, which I left with Broadie at Paris, to be 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 849. 8 1 

bound and forwarded to you, in order to escape paying double 
duty both in Belgium and England. They will be bound 
anyhow, provisorily, merely that they may go in the book- 
form, and not have to pay a penny apiece, as prints, at the 

Of the two prospectuses you sent me, I gave one to Broadie, 
and the other has somehow got all covered with ink. I must 
therefore let the sending to Lyell and Cottingham stand over 
for the present. We can discuss advertising at length when 
we are all together. I quite agree with you about the in- 
advisability of getting any more proprietors as yet. . . . 

It appears to me quite unnecessary to begin sending about 
prospectuses at present in any great quantity. 

You speak of the uncertainty of Haynes' estimate coinciding 
with Tupper's. If Tupper is more moderate, let us print by 
all means with him. 

Will you tell Papa that while in Paris I called with his 
letter for Ronna at the address which it bears, and saw a 
crusty old woman who said he had been gone some time 
and she did not know whither, but that if I called next day 
perhaps some one would be there who knew? The quarter 
of Paris however was one we never had occasion to be in, 
and which is infamously paved. The consequence was that 
we put off calling again till it was too late. Owing to the 
number of things we were obliged to run after, several other 
letters with which we had been entrusted shared the same 

To Papa, Mamma, and Collinson, I intend to write as soon 
as possible. I hope they have made allowances hitherto. A 
letter is also due to Christina which still lies unattcmpted. I 
have likewise to answer Woolner, and to redeem my promise 
to Hancock, 

Write at once, and if you have done anything send it : if 
not, something of Christina's. Remember me warmly to all 
friends, who by my good fortune are too numerous to par- 
ticularize. I trust Papa's health holds good. By-the-bye, 
I hear nothing of the Bermondsey murder. 

VOL. n. 6 


A 8. 

[London. ? January 1850.] 

My DEAR Aunt, 

I am quite ashamed, and have been ashamed from 
day to day for a long while, of not having ever thanked you 
yet for the kind present you made me some while back. I 
can scarcely hope that you will believe me nevertheless to 
be none the less thankful for not having said so, and can 
scarcely with any countenance assure you that such is the 
case. The fact is, and I am sorry for it, that my laziness 
is so great as to account for many things which it cannot 
excuse. I need not tell you how timely your gift was. 

I am now beginning a large picture containing about thirty 
figures, and concerning the love of a page for a queen, as 
treated of in one of Browning's songs — a subject which 1 
have pitched upon principally for its presumptive saleableness. 
I find unluckily that the class of pictures which has my 
natural preference is not for the market. 

I have nearly finished the sketch in colour for my picture, 
have made many of the studies, and am beginning to draw 
it in on the canvas ; so that I am at least setting to work in 
time ; but it will be a long job. 

I trust that this note will find you in a state of robust 

F I. 

This laughable sonnet was sent in a letter to our sister Christina, 
then in Brighton, towards 20 January 1850. The letter has perished, 
but the sonnet survives, and may serve as a small pen-and-ink sketch 
of my brother's domicile at that now remote date. He had taken a 
first-floor studio in a house in Newman Street in which a dancing- 
academy was held; this he terms "the hop-shop." Hancock's 
"accents screechy" are not an arbitrary make-rhyme to Beatrice 
(according to the Italian pronunciation of that name), but a tolerably 
true definition of his voice, which was small and high-pitched. He 
was now doing a statue of Dante's Beatrice, as seen by the poet in 
the Garden of Eden. The "engraving of his bas-relief" was taken 
from a work which he had produced, and which had gained an 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 8 so. 83 

Art-Union prize, Chrisfs Entry info Jerusalem. Bernhard Smith 
was a very tall and stalwart young man, of florid English presence, 
handsome and good-humoured ; a sculptor, who painted one or two 
small pictures as well, and came near to being enlisted as a P.R.B. 
Soon afterwards he emigrated, along with Woolner, to Australia, 
and in course of time became a police-magistrate there. He died 
in or about 1885. This sonnet was headed St. Wagnes' Eve, and 
was written on St. Agnes' Eve, 20 January. 

[20 January 1850.] 
The hop-shop is shut up : the night doth wear. 

Here, early, Collinson this evening fell 

"Into the gulfs of sleep"; and Deverell 
Has turned upon the pivot of his chair 
The whole of this night long ; and Hancock there 

Has laboured to repeat, in accents screechy, 

" Guardami ben, ben son, ben son Beatrice " ; 
And Bernhard Smith still beamed, serene and square. 
By eight, the coffee was all drunk. At nine 

We gave the cat some milk. Our talk did shelve. 
Ere ten, to gasps and stupor. Helpless grief 
Made, towards eleven, my inmost spirit pine, 

Knowing North's hour. And Hancock, hard on twelve, 
Showed an engraving of his bas-relief. 

C 15. 

When this letter was written I was in Edinburgh for a brief 
holiday. My brother knew nothing then of the Scottish capital; 
nor I think did he ever do more than pass through it. The 
phrase " Millaian squalor " must be a jocular allusion to press- 
attacks on Millais's picture termed The Carpenter's Shop. 

" The Browning picture " has been already mentioned— ijT/i-/, 
said Kate the Queen. The subject from Much Ado about Nothing 
which my brother thought of designing and painting was the final 
scene where Benedick stops Beatrice's mouth with a kiss. A design of 
the subject survives, but the picture was never undertaken. " The 
Gurm " means The Germ. Cayley's MS. was a portion of the trans- 
lation, by Charles Bagot Cayley, of Dante's Commedia., The work 
was published not very long afterwards, and it remains to this day, I 
think, the best translation of the poem, all things considered. Mi, 
Cayley died in December 1883. 


[London.] Tuesday 3 Septembey 1850. 

Dear William, 

Your letter received two days back (and which I 
should have answered before) is the most pitiful apocalypse 
of dreariness that I remember to have seen. What can you 
be doing ? Of what avail are mere gateways and staircases 
and gables, be they even of Millaian squalor ? Verily they 
shall not suffice. . 

I would advise you, if you wish " to elude madness," to 
make with some speed for the Lakes or the Highlands, and 
shake off the dust of Edinburgh, which is just a place where 
people tell lies in Scotch. 

Or, should you remain, being stiff-necked, and have not 
reached that state of whining impotence which precludes you 
from society, I shall be able in a day or two to send you some 
letters from Stephens and Hannay for fellows in Auld Reekie, 
the fallacious expectance whereof has indeed caused this 
letter to be thus delayed. 

I have no news scarcely. . . . 

Having found it impossible to get the Browning picture 
ready for next exhibition, I have designed the subject I men- 
tioned to you from MiicJi Ado about Nothing, and shall begin 
to paint it in a very few days. I think it will come well. I have 
also made one or two other sketches for different subjects. 

Mamma the other day pitched somehow on a paper called 
The Guardian which contains a flare-up review of The Gurm. 
It is the number for 28 August. 

I went the other night to see the Legend of Florence, which 
is much more poetical on the stage than I anticipated. Miss 
Glyn is godlike. 

Why do you not write something ? By which I mean 
neither an incubus nor a succubus. I have just read your 
review in The Critic of the British Institution, many parts 
of v/hich I do not understand. What do you mean by 
the "enforcement of magnificence having a tendency to 
impair the more essential development of feeling ? " This 
smacks villainously of Malvolio's vein. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1850. 85 

Can you explain the following ? — 

She knew it not, — most perfect pain 

To learn ; and this she knew not. Strife 
For me, calm hers, as from the first, 
'Twas but another bubble burst 
Upon the curdling draught of life : — 
My silent patience mine again. 

As who, of forms that crowd unknown 
Within a dusky mirror's shade. 

Deems such an one himself, and makes 
Some sign ; but, when that image shakes 
No whit, he finds his thought betrayed, 
And must seek elsewhere for his own. 

This may not reach you, as I have lost your letter, and am 
uncertain of your number. 

D. G. R. 

Mamma sent Cayley's MS., which I suppose you have got. 

B 9. 

My brother had gone on 23 October with Mr. Holman Hunt to 
Sevenoaks to discover and paint a suitable background for a picture. 
He painted on a moderate-sized canvas a woodland background, 
which remained unutilized for a great number of years. 

Mrs. Hearnden's, High Street, Sevenoaks, Kent. 
[24 October 1850.] 

Dear Mamma, 

. I reached here yesterday evening, and seem to 
have come in for the most rascally fortnight of the year. 
The wet seems regularly established, being nevertheless any- 
thing but respectable on that account. I went out this 
morning with Hunt in search of an eligible spot, and found 
what I wanted ; but was unable to make more than a sketch, 
since, after an interval of extreme anguish, Hunt and myself 
were obliged to beat a retreat, soaked to the bone. 

I find I shall never be able to get on without a change of 
nether garments, which article of dress proved this morning 


unable to withstand a three hours' cataract. Will you there- 
fore take the trouble to send me somehow my other breeches 
(the pair with straps), and to wrap in them any Italian 
grammar you can spare, as Hunt wishes to avail himself of 
my lore in that language ? I find that two other indispensable 
articles will be a pair of goloshes and a rug to wrap round the 
legs, both of which I shall be able to procure here at no very 
desperate outlay. 

I am become loathsomely matutine, and was up this 
morning at seven. 

Love to all at home from myself, and best remembrances 
from Hunt and Stephens. 

A 9. 

The address given to this letter, 17 Red Lion Square, was that of 
Walter Deverell's studio. My brother worked there for a short time 
between his leaving Newman Street and settling in Chatham Place. 
The date of the letter is approximately fixed by the reference 
to Lord Compton's succession to the Marquisate of Northampton — 
an event which took place on 17 January 1851. I cannot say which 
was the picture that the Marquis thought of buying — possibly the 
Beatrice at a Marriage-feast. He certainly did not buy that work, 
nor, so far as I know, any other. I am not sure that my brother 
ever became personally known to him — but I think he did. 

There follows a reference to a small picture which had been 
begun as a substitute for a large one abandoned. The large one is 
no doubt Kate the Queen. The small one appears to be the same 
which is afterwards spoken of as attracting Mr. Combe of Oxford 
(the Director of the University Press). It may have been the water- 
colour of Dante drawing an Angel in Memory of Beatrice, which 
was in the possession of Mrs. Combe up to the date of her death 
in 1894, and was bequeathed by her to the Oxford University 
Gallery. Its first owner however was Mr. McCracken of Belfast. 

" Unless I should immediately get rid of my last year's picture." 
This phrase relates to the picture of The Atmunciation. 

I cannot now well understand my brother's statement that his 
" present engagement consists in making some drawings on wood," 
especially as coupled with the reference to its "yielding just the 


means of daily subbistence." To the best of my recollection the very 
first woodcut he actually produced was the one, published in 1855, 
to Allingham's poem The Maids of Elfin Mere. I have by me 
however a wood-block on which he has drawn a design of a monk 
painting, with other monks looking on. This may date in or about 
1851. It was never cut. Whether he expected to be paid for it, 
and by whom, I do not now remembsr. In his letter he speaks also 
of "writing," in the same connexion with "the means of daily 
subsistence." This does not however clearly imply that he was 
actually thus writing ; nor have I the least recollection that he was — 
save only that he did, in 185 1 or '52, a little of the translating-work 
for a book which was published in the latter year, the Memoirs and 
Correspondence of Mallet du Pan. Mr. Benjamin H. Paul (a Scientific 
Chemist, whom we knew in James Hannay's set) was the chief trans- 
lator, along with myself, and the female members of my family did 
something substantial. 

17 Red Lion Square [London]. 
Thursday [? Febntaiy 1851]. 

My dear Aunt Charlotte, 

Having been staying for two days at Chelsea with 
my friend Hunt, I got your first missive only last night at 
about eleven, and your second this morning. I am very sorry 
that your generosity to me should have resulted in any 
uneasiness to yourself. 

I shall not dwell, as I know you do not wish it, upon my 
obligation to you for this new act of kindness. Indeed, I 
should scarcely know how to express my thanks for so many 
repeated proofs of affectionate interest on your part, whom 
I now see so little of, and who know so little of me that can 
render me deserving in your eyes. 

I am afraid in particular that you must have thought me 
most ungrateful for not answering during all this time a letter 
of yours received several months back. The reason why I 
deferred doing so at the time was that I was then in constant 
expectation of selling a small picture of mine which Lord 
Compton (now, by his father's death, Marquis of Northampton) 
had requested, through a friend, might be sent to him for 
examination, I dare say Mamma may have told you aboiit 


this at the time. I hoped, by delaying my answer to you, 
to be able to decline your generous offer at the same time 
that I sincerely thanked you for making it ; but unfortunately 
I heard no further from the Marquis, whose good pleasure I 
am still waiting for, having only learnt that he wishes to be 
introduced to me — for which however he has as yet given 
me no opportunity. Nothing could give me more pleasure 
than to sell my picture ; but I confess that one thing I 
cannot manage to do is thrusting myself on the acquaintance 
of a Lord. 

Just then I was commencing a small picture, having 
abandoned the one I had been engaged on for some time, 
on account of its being too large to get done for the Academy. 
On this smaller picture however I was unwilling to risk any 
one's money except my own ; since, being rather a hurried 
affair, and got up chiefly to keep my name before the public, 
it might possibly not sell after all. Therefore, hearing no 
more from Lord Northampton, and having determined that 
I would be no further drag upon my parents, I abandoned 
the small picture I speak of, and preferred undertaking, for 
the time being, one or two odd jobs which had turned up, 
and which might enable me to wait. On these I am still 
engaged, and they will now before long bring me in sufficient 
money to discharge what few debts I have remaining after 
your present ; among others, several pounds which I have 
been forced to borrow of Mamma from time to time. I shall 
also have a little left for myself; but, I must frankly tell 
you, far from sufficient to go on with my large picture, upon 
which, through the lapse of time, it is now absolutely 
necessary that I should get to work again at once. 

I have been induced to give you all these details concerning 
my affairs because, unless I should immediately get rid of 
my last year's picture, I shall be necessitated, as soon as my 
present engagement (which consists in making some drawings 
on wood) leaves me free for my real work, to be obliged to 
write to you, accepting those means of pursuing my studies 
which you have so freely offered me. Indeed, were I not 

FAMILY-LETTERS 1 85 1. 89 

to do SO, I think I should be guilty of injustice to myself, 
as well as of ingratitude to you ; since I think there can be 
little doubt at present of my selling a picture, if I have the 
means to get it properly done. Indeed, a Mr. Combe of 
Oxford, a patron of my friend Millais, has expressed a desire 
to have a picture of mine, and is greatly pleased with the 
subject of my present one. If therefore I could get it 
satisfactorily advanced, I think it very probable indeed that 
he might purchase it. 

I am sure you will agree with me that it is very necessary 
I should, if possible, occupy myself constantly with my real 
career as a painter, and put aside that kind of minor employ- 
ment, either in writing or designing, which, while yielding 
just the means of daily subsistence, would be causing me 
to lose entirely what ground I have already gained with the 
public ; which, I may add without vanity, is much more 
than most young men have gained upon the strength of two 
small pictures. 

Thus I need not say of what incalculable value to me, 
at this juncture, will be the means of dispensing with further 
delay in my picture, nor with how much gratitude to you 
I shall accept them, from a sense of duty towards myself ; 
seeing that they may probably be instrumental in enabling 
me before long to be of no further charge to any one. I may 
add an assurance that I should consider all such sums strictly 
as a loan, to be returned when the sale of a picture enabled 
me to do so. 

I am sure therefore that, should you hear from me 
again on this subject within a short period, you will not 
think the worse of me for thus taking advantage of your 

Believe me always, my dear Aunt, 

Your grateful and affectionate Nephew, 


P.S. — I cashed the cheque as soon as it reached me — i.e., 
this morning. 


C l6. 

I can remember something of the " Electro-biology " to which 
the following note refers. It was a public display, conducted either 
by Dr. Marshall Hall, or by an over-plausible and fresh-com- 
plexioned Irish-American whom my brother characterized as " the 
Pink Owl." The Electro-biology was in the nature of clairvoyance, 
or what we now call hypnotism. For anything of this kind, including 
table-turning and spirit-rapping, my brother had a rather marked 
propensity and willing credence. He did not however believe in 
the " Pink Owl." " Johnny " is Millais. 

The " notice of Poole " — his picture of The Goths in Italy — was 
volunteered for insertion amid the review of the Royal Academy 
Exhibition which I, as Art-critic of the Spectator, was then writing 
for that journal. It appeared in the Spectator, and is reproduced 
in the Collected Works (vol. ii., p. 501). 

[London. 9 May 1851.] 

Dear William, 

I believe Millais, Hunt, and self, are going to-morrow 
night to have another shy at seeing the Electro-biology. Do 
you like to come ? I suppose I shall be at Johnny's about 
half after six or so. I shall be at Hannay's late, 

I send you a notice of Poole. Please to print all, or not 
to print any. 

I insert this scrap as giving me the opportunity of mentioning a 
poet, some of whose pieces were much admired by my brother in 
his early manhood, and to the last regarded with esteem and pre- 
dilection. The " some one at Hannay's " was Thomas Buchanan 
Read, an American poet, and a painter by profession as well, author 
of Rural Poems, Lays a?td Ballads, etc. My brother and I had 
seen a few of his lyrics in some newspaper — perhaps in 1848 or 
1847. Read died several years ago. He was a curiously small man 
in stature, and had at this time a pleasant little wife (I think he 
re-married afterwards) on exactly a corresponding scale. 

[London.] 13 Azigust 1851. 

Dear W 

Some one is at Hannay's to-night whom you will be sur- 
prised to see. Come if you can. This is written from there. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 85 I. 9 1 

A 10. 

The subject from the Viia Nuova which my Ijrother was now 
attending to was probably the water-colour entitled Beatrice at a 
Marriage-feast denies Dante her Salutation. It was hung soon 
afterwards in a small exhibition. A water-colour of The Return of 
TibuUiis to Delia was also, I believe, produced in 1851 ; but the 
principal water-colour of this subject belongs to a much later 
date, 1866-7. " My little picture," the sending of which to the 
Liverpool Exhibition had been suggested, must be The Atinuncia- 
tion, which had been exhibited in London (Free Exhibition) in 
1850, but had not as yet found a purchaser. 

17 Newman Street [London]. 
Wednesday [f AtigKst 1851]. 

My dear Aunt, 

Pray accept my acknowledgments for the receipt of 
the money-order, which came duly to hand this morning. 

I have at present two subjects en train — one from Dante's 
Vita Nnova^ and one from the Poems of Tibullus. I am 
still in doubt, though I shall be obliged to decide in a day 
or two, upon which to turn my principal attention. The 
latter, as being rather the smaller, would be likely to secure 
a better place in the Exhibition. I think that, as to sale, 
the chances are about equal. 

As regards Lady Bath's idea about sending my little 
picture to Liverpool, I should certainly have done so (or else 
to Manchester or Birmingham) last year, had the thing been 
of a more popular character. Even were it only a little less 
peculiar, 1 would have done so for the sake of the chance ; 
but, as it is, I know by experience that you might as well 
expect a Liverpool merchant to communicate with his Chinese 
correspondent without the intervention of some one who 
knows the language as imagine that he could look at the 
picture in question with the remotest glimmering of its 
purpose. This is the reason which has prevented me from 
sending it anywhere ; particularly as it would be sure to come 
back with the frame knocked to pieces, and as it is a very 
bad thing for any artist, without some definite chance of sale, 


to exhibit any picture a second time, and to let every one 
know that he has not sold it. 

C i8. 

When this note was written I was staying at Newcastle-on-Tyne 
with Mr. and Mrs. William Bell Scott. During my absence from 
London, Gabriel accommodated me by keeping-up the writing that 
was due from me for the Spectator, of which Mr. Rintoul was editor. 
The "pamphlet " which he speaks of was Mr. Ruskin's pamphlet on 
Freer aphaelitism. The " exposure at Lichfield House " was an 
" Exhibition of the Modern Pictures of all Countries." My brother 
wrote the notice of this, reproduced in his Collected Works (vol. ii., 
p. 476). " The Vita Nuova" mentioned in this letter, is my brother's 
translation of that work, subsequently published (but not by Murray) 
in his volume The Early Italiaji Poets, now named Dante and his 
Circle. Mr. Taylor was John Edward Taylor, a printer and a man 
of literary cultivation, an old friend of our father's — author of 
Michelangelo considered as a Philosophic Poet, etc. 

[London. Monday 25 August 1851.] 

My dear William, 

I have felt so very ill to-day and yesterday as to have 
been quite unable to write anything which could be printed 
about the pamphlet etc. I have lost your note, but believe 
you said the article should be sent off to-night. I suppose 
you have not still time to write it yourself. Rintoul however 
has just sent me an order to go to that blackguard exposure 
at Lichfield House. 1 am not well enough to stir out to-night 
(the order being for to-night only), but will write an article 
from recollection and catalogue — which Brown has got. This 
I suppose will be sufficient for the present week. The P.R.B. 
business will not lose, I think, by waiting till the other papers 
have had their say. 

Will you thank Scott for the Vita Nuova and for his note, 
which I shall answer immediately ? 

He is quite right, I know, in all he says of ruggedness etc., 
and I shall pay every attention to those matters. I have 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 85 1. 93 

sent the thing to Mr. Taylor, and it seems there is a chance 
of its coming out with Murray, which would be a capital 
advertisement for my next picture. 

D. G. R. 

Remember me most kindly to your host and hostess. , 

C 19. 

My brother did write, as proposed, a notice of the " Exhibition of 
Sketches." It appears in his Collected Works (vol. ii., p. 485). Egg 
was the painter of that name. 

[London.] Saturday [30 August 1851]. 

Dear William, 

I hope this will reach you before you leave Newcastle. 
Rintoul has sent me an order for Pocock's Exhibition of 
Sketches just opened at the Old Water-colour ; also an 
intimation about some blessed Dioramas ; also a notice about 
an Art-Union print ; also a letter saying that there will 
probably be more of the same kidney. I wrote a very long 
notice (at least I found it very long to write) of the rubbish 
at Lichfield House, and will see to the Sketches, though I 
cannot go to-day, as, being the private view, I should be 
sure to pitch upon some Associate or Academician. I have 
written to Rintoul saying that the Dioramas can, I suppose, 
stand over. 

As I have got the notice of the sketching geniuses to write, 
you had better do the Ruskin business yourself. Indeed, as 
I hear that Egg had been told by some one that I wrote 
the Spectator notices (regarding which Hunt was obliged to 
undeceive him by telling him that you did), I had rather not 
have anything to do with it. Do not omit to mention my 
name however (though of course not obtrusively), and to dwell 
particularly on the fact that my religious subjects have been 
entirely independent in treatment of any other corresponding 
representation, and indeed altogether original in the inven- 


I have been queer ever since I wrote to you, and to-day am 
exceedingly disordered and uncomfortable. 

Your affectionate Brother, 

D. G. R. 

Remember me to Mr. and Mrs. Scott. 

C 20. 

I had now written for the Spectator an article on Prceraphaelitisni, 
consequent partly on Mr. Ruskin's pamphlet. The Editor (no doubt 
rightly) demurred to my treatment of the subject ; another paper 
was then written by me, and was approved and published. It is 
to the first of these papers that my brother's letter adverts. The 
statement that I had " not referred to any work of Hunt " can only 
mean that I had not mentioned any such individual work, for I 
must assuredly have given due prominence to Hunt himself in 
general. My brother's reference to his picture of the Girlhood will 
be understood as relating to his first picture, The Girlhood of Mary 

[London. September 1851.] 

Dear W 

I have read your paper on the P.R.B., and agree with 
Rintoul that it is too full of details and particular instances. 
Moreover it dashes too much at once into these, and seems 
as if you were too well up and habituated to the subject. 
Are you aware too that you have not referred to any work 
of Hunt, though giving a minute analysis of one of Millais, 
and of mine? I would not for the world that the long 
paragraph about me should appear without any reference 
to Hunt. Indeed I think it too long in any case, and would 
seem like personal bias to some. I wish too you would put 
the one about Millais first ; also that you would not attempt 
to defend my mediaevalisms, which were absurd, but rather 
say that there was enough good in the works to give 
assurance that these were merely superficial. My picture 
should be described as the Girlhood, and by no means 


F 2. 

"The Sid," first mentioned in this letter, and more frequently 
afterwards under her name Lizzy, was Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal. 

My brother's things sent " from Highgate " must have been for- 
warded, I think, from a house rented by Mr. Bateman, a decorative 
artist, who had emigrated to Australia with Mr. Woolner and others. 
Mrs. and Miss Howitt (the late Mrs. Howitt-Watts) were then staying 
in the house, and were on very cordial terms both with my brother 
and with Miss Siddal. My brother's proposed trip to Hastings was 
for the purpose of rejoining Miss Siddal, who stayed there on various 
occasions for health's sake. 

This amusing letter was written to Christina while she was on a 
visit to the family of Mr. Swynfen Jervis, at Darlaston in Staffordshire. 
It contains a pen-and-ink sketch, described towards the close. The 
whole thing is "chaff," and should not be understood as seriously 
ill-natured to Mr. Jervis, who was something of a Shakespearian 
commentator, and something also of a verse-writer. The sketch 
represents Christina either drawing a portrait of Mr. Jervis or 
transcribing verses from his dictation. Mr. Jervis, goose-quill in 
hand, rests his right elbow on the plinth of a bust of Shakespear. 
This bust has a sly glance, as if Shakespear took a view of Mr. 
Jervis's lucubrations rather different from that gentleman's own 
view. On the plinth is inscribed "We ne'er shall look upon his 
like again"; to which Mr. Jervis has appended the words, "Oh ah ! 
S. J." — A mushroom grows at the base of the plinth. In the back- 
ground appears a totally unrecognizable scribble of Westminster 
Abbey. Christina's profile is caricatured, but expressively so. 

[London. 4 August 1852.] 

My dear Christina, 

Maria has just shown me a letter of yours by which 
I find that you have been perpetrating portraits of some 
kind. If you answer this note, will you enclose a specimen, 
as I should like to see some of your handiwork ? You must 
take care however not to rival the Sid, but keep within 
respectful limits. Since you went away, I have had sent 
me, among my things from Highgate, a lock of hair shorn 
from the beloved head of that dear, and radiant as the tresses 


of Aurora, a sight of which may perhaps dazzle you on your 
return. ... 

I am rejoiced to hear of your improved health, and hope 
it may prove lasting. I was lately in company with Mrs. 
and Miss Howitt, with whom you are a considerable topic. 
I believe Mamma forwarded you an intelligent Magazine by 
Mrs. H[owitt] to which you are at liberty to contribute. 
That lady was much delighted with your printed per- 
formances, and wishes greatly to know you. Her daughter 
. . . has by her, singularly enough, a drawing which she 
calls The End of ike Pilgrimage, made by her some years 
back, which furnishes an exact illustration of your Ruined 

On the opposite page is an attempt to record, though 
faintly, that privileged period of your life during which you 
have sat at the feet of one for whom the ages have probably 
been waiting. The cartoon has that vagueness which attends 
all true poetry. On his countenance is a calm serenity, 
unchangeable, unmistakable. In yours I think I read awe, 
mingled however with something of that noble pride which 
even the companionship of greatness has been known to 
bestow. Are you here transcribing from his very lips the 
title-deeds of his immortality, or rather perpetuating by a 
sister art the aspect of that brow where Poetry has set-up 
her throne? I know not. The expression of Shakespear's 
genial features is also perhaps ambiguous, though doubtless 
not to him, Westminster Abbey, I see, looms in the distance, 
though with rather an airy character. 

I shall very possibly be going to Hastings in a few days. 
Meanwhile, till I hear from you or see you again, believe me, 
dear Christina, 

Your affectionate Brother, 


I forgot to say that Mamma considers 2s. 6d. sufficient to 
give the maid — in which, 1 may add, I do not coincide. 
Mamma however says you must judge. 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 8 52. 9/ 


I had gone for two or three days to Holman Hunt's lodgings at 
Chelsea, near the Old Church, to sit to him for a head or what not 
in one of his pictures. My brother at the same time wanted me to 
sit to him for something else ; I think it was the head of Dante in 
his water-colour of Da/ite draiving an Angel in Memory of Beatrice. 
Hence this note. The opening phrase refers to the subsiding of 
some extraordinarily heavy rains. 

[London.] Friday at breakfast, 13 August 1852. 

Dear W 

Now that Chelsea and London are again one con- 
tinent, I think you could not do better than return to your 
Lares, who are pining for you with a pencil in one hand and 
an india-rubber in the other. Or, as I have abandoned poetry, 
I had better plainly inform you that, almost immediately 
after your abrupt bolt the other morning, I descended to the 
parlour with a request in reserve that you would come and 
sit, but found only that vacimni which Art on this occasion 
concurred with Nature in abhorring. 

If you do not come at once, I am really afraid that I shall 
not be able to do what I want from you, though it is not 
much, before you start for Hastings or elsewhither as the 
case may be. So be a good fellow and come, and tell Hunt 
I shall cut him if he tries to keep you. 

Your affectionate executioner, 

D. G. 

B 10. 

" Wells Street " must mean the Church in Wells Street, Oxford 
Street, at which there were services of more than common musical 
beauty, attended at this time by our Mother and sisters, and some- 
times by my brother as well. " The press " was the printing-press 
which our Grandfather Polidori kept for his private convenience. It 
seems that Mr. Tupper the printer was now thinking of buying this 
press — perhaps he did so. Teodorico was our cousin Teodorico 
Pietrocola-Rossetti, who was settled in London in these years. 

VOL. IL 7 


[14 Chatham Place, Biackfriars Bridge.] 
Wednesday [towards end of 1852]. 

My dear Mamma, 

... I think the other day named by Christina 
(whose note I cannot find) was Sunday. If I am able to get 
round to Wells Street in the morning, I shall come to dine 
with you afterwards, and may possibly see you this evening, 
if Tupper and I go to Grandpapa's about the press. I trust 
he continues better. 

... I did a sketch of Teodorico last night, but suspect 
that it was a perfect failure. He has got it, and I believe 
means to show it you. I am getting to work here. 

C 22. 

My brother's proposal that I should review in the Spectator Miss 
Hewitt's very pleasant and taking book, An Art-student in Munich, 
did not come to fulfilment. The work was reviewed, but not by me. 
I think it had been assigned or bespoken before I had an opportunity 
of addressing the Editor. 

Edwards is Mr. Sutherland Edwards, the musical critic and 
author. Browning's play must have been Colonibe's Birthday. I 
don't know why my brother should have been " bored to death " 
in case he had gone to see the play acted in the company of Mr. 
Edwards, without mine as well. He intensely admired Browning 
and his works, and had no sort of antipathy to Mr. Edwards; possibly 
he expected the drama to be spoiled in the acting. But wilfulness 
and waywardness governed him in matters of this kind. 

[Chatham Place.] Saturday [23 April 1853]. 

My dear William, 

Let me remind you again to speak to Rintoul, if you 
have not already done so, about giving you Miss Howitt's 
Art-student in Munich to review. Pray make him do so, 
as I have promised that you will. I fancy the book may be 
out by this time, or will be in a day or two. 

D. G. R. 

Edwards came here last night, and has an idea that he 
can get some orders for the Haymarket on Monday to see 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 853- 99 

Browning's play. Will you be here at six and go ? Do come, 
as I now regret I engaged to go, and shall be bored to death 
if you do not. 

B II. 

My Mother was at Frome Sehvood, Somerset, when this letter was 
written ; settled there, along with my Father and Christina, for about 
a year. The " very undignified " verses which Christina had sent 
up were, I fancy, a few which begin " In my cottage near the Styx " ; . 
for I know that Maria was (as intimated in this letter) singularly 
amused by that effusion. It may soon be published. Mr. Stewart 
was the medical man who attended our family for several years, 
succeeded after a while by his son, whose kind and skilful treatment 
proved invaluable to my Mother, Christina, and other members of 
the family. The " sketch of Papa " is the one which appears in 
this book — a very accurate likeness. 

Chatham Place. Thursday [12 May 1853]. 

My dear Mamma, 

I came down here again yesterday, having stayed till 
then at home. I got Christina's note, but I am sure that she 
will prefer that I should write to you instead of answering 
her. I must owe her a letter till I have more news. I certainly 
owe her, and may pay her if my " muscles " permit, a copy 
of verses also for that very undignified one of hers, which 
however is exceedingly good. The slightest allusion to it, 
ever since its arrival, brings to light a neatly-paved thorough- 
fare between Maggie's ears. 

My boil has subsided. . . . Mr. Stewart called here yesterday, 
and said he would send me some other kind of medicine, as 
the old is finished. He seemed to like the situation much, 
and did not consider the rent at all high. I showed him that 
Annunciation, having nothing else at hand. He said it would 
be very pretty when finished, but I suspect was rather impressed 
by it with the idea that the doctor I most needed resided at 
Hanwell. I showed him also the sketch of Papa, which I 
have not yet managed to get to the frame-maker, but hope 
to do so to-day, as Green's man is going to call and fetch 


MacCracken's picture. Mr. S[tewart] thought the governor 
extremely like. Since you went I have added the cupboard 
and a piece of chimney-piece in his background, which 
improves him much. You will get him before long. If you 
answer this, pray let me know how the original of the sketch 
gets on, as we have heard as yet nothing particular about him- 

I want to get into the country immediately. . . . 

Calder Campbell has just been in here, and detained me 
some time talking, and I must now set about doing something 
or other. And indeed I have no more news — or rather no 
news at all, for that is about the contents of this note. 
However, I know you have the weakness to care about every 
detail concerning my health, and so have written, though with- 
out mood or material for a letter — remaining, my dear Mamma, 

Your affectionate Son, 


A II. 

Osborne, here mentioned, was a cabman, much employed as a 
jobbing man in our Grandfather's family. The reason why my 
brother saw an improved prospect for the sale of his pictures (as 
notified at the close of his letter) was, I think, that he had now 
established a connexion with Mr. Francis MacCracken of Belfast — a 
merchant or packing-agent, who evinced a very great liking for 
Rossetti's work, bought various examples of it, and would probably 
have continued his purchases, but he died some three or four years 

after this date. 

[Chatham Place.] 
Wednesday [15 June 1853]. 

My dear Aunt Charlotte, 

I am going to or near Newcastle with our friend Mr. 
Scott for a week or so, and find on enquiry that there is no 
valise or carpet-bag, or anything of the sort, I can take, at 
home. Have you any such thing that you could kindly 
spare me? I shall not want it for long. Maria will send 
Osborne to you this afternoon for your answer, and, if you 
can lend me a carpet-bag, he will bring it me. You may 
depend on my taking care of it. 


This however is not the only request with which I have 
to trouble you. I am obliged to leave town without more 
delay, by continually returning illness, which I ought to have 
tried to shake off before by change of air. I am doing 
some work which will not take long to finish on my return, 
and for which I shall get paid immediately. Meanwhile, 
if you could increase my obligations to you by a loan of ten 
or twelve pounds, I would engage faithfully to return it as 
soon as I get the money in question, of which there is no doubt. 

Maria good-naturedly says that she will be at Park Village 
this afternoon, in case you should be there, to speak to you 
about this — as I have mentioned it to her, and am myself 
obliged to be at my study. I think I am going to start 
to-morrow for Tynemouth, which is a watering-place near 
Newcastle. I hope the sea-air will do me some good, as I 
have long been in want of it. I shall bathe, and try to set 
myself up. 

I am glad to say that I am now beginning to see my way 
much more clearly as regards the sale of whatever pictures 
I do, and shall without doubt be able to repay you before 
long, should you kindly oblige me just now. 

B 12. 

The hope here expressed " that Christina is energetic in her 
pursuit of art " refers to certain endeavours in drawing and painting 
which she was then making. They might have come to something 
eventually, but were not pursued far. There is an allusion to the 
same matter in a previous letter, F 2. 

3 St. Thomas Street, Newcastle-on-Tyne. 
Monday [2.0 June 1853]. 

My dear Mother, 

I left town on Friday morning at 7, and arrived here 
between 9 and 10 P.M. with Scott. I have got out as yet 
but little, compared to what I should have wished, as the 
weather has not been very pleasant for walking. I do not 
know exactly what my next move will be, but I do not 
think of staying here, as it is rather a dreary place, and 


Scott's inertia is so much akin to my own that I am afraid 
I shall not get much benefit of exercise as long as I am here. 
I think of going to the sea-side at Tynemouth ; but may 
perhaps adopt the plan of going there in the mornings and 
coming back here at night, as it seems the journey takes 
only half an hour, and I need not then bother about a 
lodging. Mrs. Scott is in town still for the present. 

I suppose perhaps you have William with you by this 
time, I should like to know what are his plans during his 
holiday, as we might perhaps combine sooner or later. I 
fancy I feel rather better than I did in London ; but this 
atmosphere is so stagnant (intellectually speaking) that I 
really scarcely know, nor can exert myself to think whether 
I have anything to say. I do not know though that I should 
have in any case. I occupy my time chiefly in chaffing 
Scott about his brother David's works, and made a grand 
allegorical design yesterday in that worthy's style, which 
I declared was as fine as anything of his, and which Scott, I 
believe, considers secretly to be really a grand work, though 
I myself do not understand it. 

I trust the governor's health continues in the improved 
state which was the last I heard of it, and also that Christina 
is energetic in her pursuit of art. Perhaps it would be as 
well for you not to take the trouble of writing to me at 
present, as I am uncertain as to my movements. I shall get 
away from here I think before long. I have already caught 
meteoric glimpses of the bore, and foresee that he will shortly 
commence tossing his Briarean arms in various directions, 
if I stay. 

A 12. . 

3 St. Thomas Street, Newcastle-on-Tyne. 
Monday 20 June 1853. 

My dear Aunt Charlotte, 

I got here on Friday night, and this morning have set 
about letter-writing. I ought before to have thanked you 
for the remittance which your kindness supplied so imme- 
diately, and which I shall not forget to return as soon as 


possible. The carpet-bag was exactly suited to my require- 
ments, which were very small ; indeed anything larger would 

have been quite unnecessary. 

# * * * * * . 

My friend Mr. Scott, at whose house I am, is a very 
delightful man, but the family-atmosphere is rather inactive, 
and his inertia encourages mine. I fancy the sea-air at 
Tynemouth will be the thing for me. 

I send this letter to Maria, as I am uncertain about your 
exact address. This morning I have written also to Mamma, 
to whom I lately sent the sketch I made of Papa, which I 
got framed in London. I fancy William must be at Frome 
by this time. 

Please remember me kindly to all members of the family 
whom you may see, and believe me 

Your affectionate Nephew, 


C 23. 
David Scott, R.S.A. (mentioned also in a preceding letter), was 
the brother, deceased in 1849, of William Bell Scott. Gabriel's 
observation that he was " a tremendous lark " represents his opinion 
only in a certain sense. He saw the singularities and aberrations 
of David Scott's genius, but really admired it in a high degree. 
His deliberate judgment is expressed in some observations intro- 
duced into Gilchrist's Life of Blake, and re-printed in the Collected 
Works (vol. i., pp. 450 — 452). My brother never produced the 
etching which he contemplated for W. B. Scott's poem of Rosabell. 
The Artist was a short-lived serial with which I had something to 
do. It did not publish any etchings either by Scott or by Madox 
Brown. The Commonwealth etchings of Scott were a set executed 
several years before the date of this letter, relating to the English 
civil war of the seventeenth century. 

Newcastle-on-Tyne. 20 June [1853]. 

My dear William, 

I have been here since Friday, and do not exactly 
know what I mean to do. Let me know what your moves 
are to be, how long your holiday is, etc., in case we should 


be able to combine at all — and whether you have any plans 
about the rent, which is due on the 24th. I think I shall not 
stay here long, as I find the general stagnation too like the 
spirit of Banquo, except for a strenuous dog, from whom also 
I suffer much. David Scott is a tremendous lark. 

I want to tell you that Lizzy is painting at Blackfriars 
while I am away. Do not therefore encourage any one to go 
near the place. I have told her to keep the doors locked, 
and she will probably sleep there sometimes. 

Tell me any news ; I have none to tell. I suppose you are 
probably at Frome. . . , 

I have heard several of Scott's poems, some very fine, and 
am going to do the etching for his Rosabell, as I proposed. 
By-the-bye, I mentioned to him that affair of The Artist, 
and that they would have etchings ; that Brown was doing 
one, etc. ; and he asked me yesterday whether I thought it 
could be managed to get them to buy some of those 
Commonwealth etchings of his. They are really very good, 
but I do not know whether you could mention it at any time. 
You will know best. 

Your affectionate Brother, 


I suppose, if you write to me here, it can be sent on in 
case I have left. 

C 24. 

" The town-subject " must be the picture — then I think already 
begun, but never quite finished — entitled Found. My brother's 
project of going to Nuremberg did not take effect at this time — nor 
at any. Deverell's father was the Secretary to the Schools of Design, 
now enlarged into the Department of Science and Art. 

Newcastle. Friday [i July 1853]. 

My DEAR William, 

I ought to have answered you before, but have been 
unable to come to any conclusion as to my plans hitherto. 
Yesterday and the day before Scott and I made an excur- 


sion to Wetheral, Carlisle, and Hexham, and I rather think 
I shall settle at either the first or last for a little while, and 
begin my picture there. I wrote to MacCracken in answer 
to what he said about the House of John, and told him that 
T should have no objection to paint something else instead, 
mentioning the two pictures I had in contemplation — viz., 
the Magdalen at the doo7'- of Simon, and the town-subject, 
but without describing the latter, or mentioning price for 
either. I also offered him the Dante water-colour, begun 
in London, for thirty-five guineas. This last he snatches at. 
... I shall send for the drawing from London, and finish 
it here somewhere. 

Do you know, I fancy after all I had rather go to Belgium 
than to Paris, which I expect would turn out a bore. But 
it strikes me that the best (and this I would positively do 
for a week or ten days, money permitting) would be to go 
to Nuremberg, and see the Durers etc. I suppose we could 
include Cologne in such a trip, but have no idea whether 
the expense (should you be equally inclined for this as the 
other) would be greater. I fear however that my delay will 
cause this to reach town after you have left. In this case 
you will get it elsewhere, and can then write to me at once 
where you are and what you mean, and I will answer at 
once with any proposal I may have to join you anywhere. . . . 

I have done little here. However I have made a little 
water-colour of a woman in yellow, which I shall be able 
to sell, I have no doubt. I have also made sketches for an 
etching which I mean to do for Scott's book, and for the 
picture of the Magdalen. Scott and I have looked through 
his poems together, and have made some very advantageous 
amendments between us. Rosabell especially is quite another 
thing, and is now called Mary Anne. 

MacCracken has written a long letter inviting me to Belfast, 
but I have no idea of going. I heard this morning from 
Deverell that his father is dead. 

I do not find myself much better, I think, at Newcastle 
than in London, This is a beastly place. But in our late 


country excursion I felt very different ; I shall be much better 
I am sure if I settle for a little while. 

Remember me most particularly to all at home if you are 
still there. 

B 13. 

The reference to our Father's face as being only partially visible 
must be founded on the fact that he wore a cap with a large pro- 
jecting shade, to protect his eyesight ; the sight of one eye having 
been lost for some years, and that of the other being alarmingly 
precarious. " Christina's almost stereotyped smile " is a more 
decidedly jocular allusion — being meant to indicate an expression 
(real or supposed) of settled gloom, as illustrated in the letter by a 
sketch scribbled in. 

Red Horse Inn, Stratford-on-Avon. 
Tuesday Night, 12 July [1853]. 

My dear Mother, 

I left the North towards the end of last week after 
seeing several interesting places. Carlisle and Hexham espe- 
cially delighted me, with all the country thereabouts. New- 
castle however, where 1 was mainly staying, I found a horrid 
place, and the weather had been generally very shabby. 
Indeed till I came down into Warwickshire here I had felt 
but little better, but do now. 

I came straight from Newcastle to Coventry by rail, and 
since that I have had no more of that disgusting work, but 
have walked always from place to place. To-day I walked 
from Kenilworth to Stratford — twelve miles. I never feel in 
the least tired, as it is quite another thing walking here from 
what it is in London or about beastly Newcastle. Coventry, 
Warwick, and Kenilworth, are all very interesting places, and 
the country about here lovely. After getting to Stratford 
this evening, I walked out again and saw Shakespear's house, 
to which I must pay a second visit. I shall stay here one or 
two days longer, and then back to London to get about work, 
though I shall probably leave again almost immediately to 
paint a background in the country, I want to find my way 


to Frome, and see your dear face again before long — also as 
much as is visible of the governor's, and Christina's almost 
stereotyped smile, 

I suppose my letter reached Frome too late for William, 
from whom I have not heard, though no doubt you sent 
it on. I imagine he must nearly have finished his trip by 
this time. 

MacCracken is in a state of wild excitement about some 
subjects I have been mentioning to him, and wrote me a long 
letter with full directions as to how I was to get to Belfast 
at once, and stay with him a little while, when we could 
arrange everything. He has closed with an offer I made 
him of a sketch, begun in London, for 35 guineas. It is 
of the same size as those I have sold before for 12, so 
that this is not amiss. I shall finish it on my return, and 
send it to him. I shall not go near him for the present, as 
I think it would be unwise. I have made one or two 
sketches while in the country which I shall be able to sell. 
You will hear from me when I reach London. Meanwhile 
I am, dear Mamma, 

Your affectionate Son, 


B 14. 

The opening of this letter refers to a carbuncle (or possibly, as 
he says, a large boil) which my brother had been troubled with. 
He wrote from No. 38 Arlington Street, Mornington Crescent, which 
had for more than two years been the residence of our family, but 
not now of Gabriel himself, who was housed in Chatham Place, 

Arlington Street. 

Wed7tesday \Smnmer 1853]. 

Dear Mamma, 

As I have no doubt you have been getting into a 
state about me, like a dear old thing as you are, I write 
to-day to tell you that I am come down into the parlour. 


and am all right again, except that the thing is not healed 
up yet. I have no poultice on however to-day, but some 
ointment. I doubt, after all, whether it has been more than 
a boil, though a large one. 

I hear you are reading Haydon's Life, as I have been, 
and am now some way through vol. iii. It gets very melan- 
choly reading as it goes on ; but altogether the book gives 
one a very high opinion of him, I think. I cannot see, after 
all, that he was so conceited as that fellow Tom Taylor wants 
to make out, with the insolent pity of a little snob. He 
was always, or nearly so, dissatisfied with his own work, 
though certainly he was always saying he could see a great 
thing before him, which thing he really did see. The fact 
is that, when a man near the top of a hill begins going into 
raptures about the view which his position commands, it is 
necessary that one should be something more than an ant 
even to understand him, since the ant cannot even look high 
enough to see that the hill is there at all. I hate that sneak 
Wilkie. After all, Haydon does not seem to have been 
extravagant, or even very improvident. 

I shall get back to my study as soon as possible, and hope 
I shall not have any more plagues to prevent my getting 
to work. I got a letter from MacCracken towards the end 
of last week, saying he should be in London the early part 
of this, and would call at my study. I am convinced he has 
come chiefly to see Hunt and myself, and I fear he may miss 
both, as Hunt is at Ewell. However, I shall be back there 
as soon as I am quite well, and should really like to see him, 
if possible. Meanwhile I have left a note for him with the 
housekeeper explaining. 

Remember me most affectionately to Papa and to Christina. 

B 15. 

The Arpa Evangelica, a volume of religious poetry composed by 
our Father, had now been printed abroad. It formed his last 

FAMILY- LETTERS — 1 85 3- IO9 

[14 Chatham Place.] 
Monday {August 1853]. 

My dear Mamma, 

Maggy's going to Frome this morning recalls to me 
even more strongly than usual how glad I should be myself 
to see you again, and how I neglect, through wretched 
laziness as a correspondent, the only means of communicating 
with you just at present. I need not say how sorry I was 
to hear that your health had not been quite so good lately. 
I trust however that you will not long have this additional 
trouble. I am much better than I have been, though these 
hot days make one feel sick and queer. My sketch for 
MacCracken, which had languished with my health, is very 
forward now, and I hope soon to get the tin, and soon after 
that to be able to speak in the same manner of the even 
more important progress ,of his picture, on the subject of 
which his excitement continues unabated, or rather on the 
increase. MacCrac was, as perhaps I told you, to have come 
to London for a few days, but, finding on a sudden that the 
R.A. had closed, he withheld his (yearned-for) visit. 

I have seen scarcely any one lately. Read, the American 
poet whom you wot of, has been here again with his wife 
and children, on their way to settle in Italy, and consequently 
bored me for a brief gasping interval. . . . 

I am quite sorry to hear of the difficulties which delay 
the arrival of the Arpa Evangelica, which must be very 
disappointing. Pray remember me most affectionately to its 
author, for report of whose manners and habits the mental 
eye needs no telescope. 

I have finished Haydon's Life, which afforded me very 
great enjoyment. I am now reading that of Benvenuto 
Cellini, which Grandpapa gave me some time back. This 
also is most interesting, and I am perhaps the more able 
to enter into the writer's character from the surprising resem- 
blance which I find in it to that of poor Sangiovanni. The 
book, as you know, is an autobiography, and at every page 
it is absolutely like hearing Sangiovanni speak. This is 


curious to remark, as S[angiovanni]'s speciality in art was 
much of the same kind as Benvenuto's, and I dare say under 
equally fortunate conditions might have been developed to 
as high a degree. 

I am uncertain as to where I shall move to, or whether 
at all unless my picture absolutely requires it. Scott's 
holiday at Hexham is now nearly over, so that I should 
probably not go there now, as I have been pjjf vented hitherto ; 
though indeed the old market-town is attractive enough of 
itself, but the distance is so very great. I hope still to be 
able at no distant period to snatch a week or so at Frome, 
when I should be able to examine the neighbourhood as well 
as to see your dear old eye. 

A 13. • 

The small matter with which this letter opens appears to have 
stood thus. My brother had done, for insertion in our Aunt's 
workbox, some sketches, which she shortly handed over to Lady 
Bath. He then made another sketch for the workbox. 

[14 Chatham Place.] 
Friday [2 September 1853]. 

My dear Aunt, 

I am very glad the sketches pleased you, and that 
they served your object by pleasing Lady Bath. But — that 
the original box may not bewail its honours — I send you 
a little sketch for the inside. It is a recollection from Nature 
— a little girl whom I saw wheeling a baby in just such a 
barrow. Would it not make a capital picture of the domestic 
class to represent a half-dozen of girls racing the babies 
entrusted to their care— babies bewildered, out of breath, 
upset, sprawling at bottom of barrow, etc. etc. ? 

I think this sketch ought to have another piece of paper 
pasted underneath it, or I fear the printing on the box would 
show through. You should use the paste rather dry also, 

or the ink may run. 



As to what I hope to show you, I merely referred to what 
I am about for Mr. MacCracken of Belfast, of whom you 
have heard — which performances I trust to see finished at 
some indefinite period. 

I have seen extracts from Sir H. Lowe's Journal, but, to 
tell you the truth, should be rather doubtful, as far as I have 
seen, whether he might not have treated poor Bony a little 
better than he did, without injustice to his own Government. 
I have been reading Haydon's Autobiography — a most 
interesting book, which I recommend to you if it should 
come in your way. 

B 16. 

As to "Uncle Philip" see the Note to C i. The "brick wall, 
and white heifer tied to a cart," were wanted for my brother's 
picture Found. It is worth noting that he speaks of a " heifer " 
(not "calf"); one might infer that he intended the heifer, bound 
for butchering, to have a symbolic analogy with the outcast woman 
of his picture. Nick was a grotesque prose-tale written by Christina. 
It had apparently been entrusted, or was to be recommended, to 
Hannay, with a view to publication — which did not take place at 
that time. The tale was finally included in the volume named 
Commonplace, and other Stories. George Tupper and two others 
are mentioned towards the close of the letter in the character of 
creditors, Mr. Tupper being anxious to close the money-accounts 
of the long-defunct Germ. Reeves was an artists' colourman, and 
Coleman a tailor. " Maggy " always means our sister Maria. 

The letter opens by repelling the idea that Gabriel, in his Mother's 
opinion, " thought it a bore writing to her." He received a reply, 
3 October, from which I will quote a few maternal words. " Read 
my letter again, and you will see that I never said that you thought 
it a bore to write to me ; but that my letters are so barren that they 
might well prove a bore to you to read. You have always had a 
fund of affection for me ; and the remembrance of how, when quite 
little, you came forward in my defence if I was attacked, and tried 
to console me if I seemed unhappy, is one of the dearest reminis- 
cences of my heart." 


Arlington Street. Friday 30 September [1853]. 

My dear Mamma, 

I received your very welcome note, the only at all 
unsatisfactory thing in which is your hint that I think it 
a bore writing to you. Is this really quite fair, when I sent 
a letter by Maria? and even before that think (though am 
not certain) that I had been the last to write. At any rate, 
I know I am a better correspondent to you than to almost 
any one, as my friends could testify. 

I have just come in from taking tea at Park Village, where 
I am glad to inform you that I found all well, including 
Grandpapa, who conversed with me on a variety of subjects, 
though his memory seems now and then to be at fault. 
Uncle Philip seemed much gratified at your having written 
to him, and repeated at intervals, with a certain tendency to 
defiance, that the letter was good English. 

I know you will be pleased to hear that I am painting 
Aunt Charlotte's portrait, to be given to Grandpapa. I had 
the second sitting to-day, and have got very forward with it, 
though at the close of to-day I discovered a radical defect 
in the nose, and erased that important feature, whereby the 
portrait no doubt gains a temporary sublimity by resembling 
many antique statues. I am confident it will be very like 
when done. I find they have an old frame at Park Village, 
which I think can be made to suit it. 

I am progressing with my works for MacCrac, the water- 
colour being at last nearly done, as it ought to have been 
long ago ; but I shall never, I suppose, get over the weakness 
of making a thing as good as I can manage, and must take 
to charging on that principle. As for the present drawing, 
the stipulated 35 guineas is absurdly under its value now, 
and I think I must give MacCracken to understand as 

I believe I shall be wanting to paint a brick wall, and a 
white heifer tied to a cart going to market. Such things are 
I suppose to be had at Frome, and it has occurred to me 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1853- 113 

that I should like if possible to come and paint them there. 
There is a cattle-market, is there not ? Have you ever seen 
such an article as the heifer in question, and have you or 
Christina any recollection of an eligible and accessible brick 
wall ? I should want to get up and paint it early in the 
mornings, as the light ought to be that of dawn. It should 
be not too countrified (yet beautiful in colour), as it is to 
represent a city- wall. A certain modicum of moss would 
therefore be admissible, but no prodigality of grass, weeds, 
ivy, etc. Can you give any information on these heads ? I 
suppose Christina's pictorial eye will by this time have some 
insight into the beauties of brick walls — the prefcrability of 
purplish prevailing tint to yellowish, etc. 

I suppose Christina has not been working much at the 
Art ? Will you tell her that I am quite ashamed of not being 
able yet to tell her anything positive about Nick7 I am 
constantly remembering it when Hannay is not in the way, 
and always forgetting it when he is. I have now resolved to 
remember it the next time I see him, and, if I am baulked 
again, to write to him the next time I think of it. 

I was rejoiced at the arrival of the Arpa Eva?igelica, in 
thinking how much pleasure it would give Papa, to whom 
pray give my sincere love. I have been looking through the 
volume, and hope before long to have read it through. Its 
whole plan and arrangement seem to me highly artistic and 

I have been thinking whether anything is left to say ; but 
can only find that George Tupper is still uncompromising. 
Reeves strenuous, Coleman sleepless, and MacCrac the same 
frenzied enthusiast ; facts which demand that the present 
writer should be a philosopher of some eminence, as well as 

Your most affectionate Son, 

Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 


Give my best love to Maggy and Christina, the former of 

lom no doubt I shall soon see again. 

VOL. II. 8 



This letter to our Father, and the following one, may as well 
appear in their original Italian : I subjoin translations. A sugges- 
tion had been made by our Father in a letter dated 4 October, that 
Lady Bath, the purchaser of The Girlhood of Mary Virgin^ might 
probably commission Gabriel for a portrait of herself. It will be 
seen from the letter that Mr. MacCracken was now the owner of the 
Annunciation picture. — I will give one passage from our Father's 
letter : " Remember, my much-loved son, that you have only your 
own ability upon which to thrive. Remember that you were born 
with a decided aptitude [for painting] ; and that, even from your 
earliest years, you made us conceive the highest hopes that you 
would prove a great painter. And such you will be, I am assured." 


My dearest Father, 

I learned yesterday with great concern, from Mamma's 
letter to Maria, that you have had in these last days a severe 
attack of diarrhoea ; but I thank God for the decided improve- 
ment of which that letter also assures me. May your health 
strengthen always from day to day with the fine air of the 
country, from which I hoped much when you left London. 

I would not have delayed so long in answering your dear 
and affectionate letter, but that I was wishing to speak some- 
what, in my reply, about the Arpa Evangelica, and to read 
it in full before writing to you. Nor have I yet, being much 
occupied just now, found time for a deliberate reading. I 
have read the whole second series, the Solemnities of the 
Church, which I liked well ; but more perhaps than any of 
the compositions there I like the last composition in the fifth 
series, TJie Penitent Woman on the Crucifix, which appeared 
to me very fine, and which might almost appertain to the 
argument of the second series. The other evening, in my 
Grandfather's house, I read with him some of the Arpa; and 
he particularly indicated to me the poem on the Fall of 
Jerusalem, and I joined him in admiring it. I have also read 
the first of the three cantos of TJie Redemption, which seems 
to me worthy of the other two, which I already knew. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 8 53- Ilj 

I trust that perhaps I may soon be able to come and see 
you at Frome, when I hope to find your health improved, 
and that of Mamma and Christina vigorous. The portrait of 
my Aunt Charlotte will perhaps require one other sitting, 
but it is already nearly finished ; I think it is now very like. 
I fear there is not any ground to suppose that Lady Bath 
wants her own portrait, as she has lately had it painted twice 
— one in miniature, another in oil. Nor perhaps could I just 
now undertake it, being bound to paint a picture for that 
Irish gentleman who owns my Annunciation. For him is 
likewise the water-colour which I am now finishing, and of 
which Mamma will certainly have spoken to you. 

Please tell Mamma that I have not forgotten her last letter, 
and will not fail to reply. Assure her, and also Christina, 
of my sincere affection, and believe me always 

Your very affectionate Son, 


14 Chatham Place, Blackfriars Bridge. 

Sabato {October 1853I. 

Mio CARLSSiMO Padre, 

Ho saputo ieri con gran rammarico, dalla lettera di 
Mamma a Maria, che avete avuto in questi ultimi giorni un 
severo attacco di diarrea, ma ringrazio Iddio del miglioramento 
deciso che quella lettera anche mi assicura. Possa la vostra 
salute invigorirsi sempre di giorno in giorno coll' aria benefica 
della campagna, dalla quale ho sperato molto quando lasciaste 

Non avrei indugiato tanto nel rispondere alia vostra cara 
ed affettuosa lettera, se non avessi desiderato di parlare 
alquanto, nella mia risposta, dell' Arpa Evangelica, e di 
leggerla tutta prima di scrivervi. Ne ancora, essendo molto 
occupato in questo momento, ho io trovato tempo per una 
lettura accurata. Ho letto intiera la seconda serie delle 
Solennita della Chiesa, la quale mi place assai, ma forse piu 
ancora che qualunque delle composizioni contenute in essa 
mi place I'ultima composizione della quinta serie. La Penitente 


sul Crocifisso^ la quale mi e paruta bellissima, e che appar- 
terrebbe quasi all'argomento della seconda serie. L'altra 
sera, a casa di mio avo, ho letto con lui qualche squarcio dell' 
Ai'pa, ed esso mi ha indicato specialmente la poesia sulla 
Caduta di Gerusalemme, ed io mi sono unito con lui nell' 
ammirarla. Ho letto anche il primo dei tre Canti della 
Redenzione, che mi pare degno dei due altri, i quali io gia 

Spero che forse fra poco io potro venire a visitarvi a Frome, 
dove spero di trovare ristabilita la vostra salute, e vigorosa 
quella di Mamma e di Cristina. II ritratto di mia zia Carlotta 
richiedera forse un' altra seduta, ma e gia quasi finita ; mi 
pare che adesso somigli molto. Temo che non ci sia affatto 
luogo di credere che Lady Bath vorra il proprio ritratto, 
poiche se I'ha fatto dipingere ultimiamente due volte, una 
in miniatura, un' altra ad olio. Ne io forse in questo momento 
Io protrei intraprendcre, avendo I'incombenza di fare un 
quadro per quel signore irlandese che possiede la mia Amum- 
pjiazione. Per lui anche e I'acquarella che finisco ora^ e di 
cui Mamma vi avra certamente parlato. 

Vi prego di dire a Mamma che non mi sono scordato 
della sua ultima lettera, e che non manchero a risponderci. 
Assicurate lei, come anche Cristina, del mio sincero affetto, 
e credetemi sempre 

il vostro affettuosissimo figlio, 


B 17. 

Williams, here named, was a jobbing man, employed in our family 
to black boots, etc. : he entertained a special predilection for Gabriel. 
In earlier years he had been a police-constable in Wales ; he had good 
natural intelligence, and a characteristic face, which Gabriel painted 
as St. Joachim in his Girlhood of Mary Virgin. No opportunity 
offered to my brother of painting our Mother's portrait at Frome. 
In laughing at the statement that Woolner was " a gentleman of 
very affable and agreeable manners," Gabriel did not intend any 
sneer at his friend : only that Woolner was much more laudable for 

By D. G. Kossetti. 

Charlotte L. Polidori. 


FAMILY-LETTERS— 1853. ' 117 

sturdy independence and resolute decision than for anything to be 
classed under the term "affable." 

Thursday evening [Autumn 1853]. 

My dear Mother, 

I have been putting off writing to you under the idea 
that, by doing so, I should be able to speak positively as to 
my possible visit to Frome ; but find myself as yet still urrable 
to do so, and will no longer defer writing. 

I have been working a great deal lately, but somehow it 
seems impossible to finish anything. I have received ^20 
in advance towards the payment of the drawing for MacCrac, 
which is at last nearly done ; and have been getting under 
way with his picture, which I hope, when once fairly afoot, 
will soon be very forward, as I have been making careful 
preparations, and caution at first is always the shortest in 
the long run. Aunt Charlotte's portrait is done to all intents 
and purposes, though I shall have another sitting. I think 
it is now a great deal like. I showed it to-day to Williams, 
who was sitting to me, and he recognized it immediately. 
As soon as I am able to come to Frome I mean to paint a 
similar portrait of you ; and should like also to do one of 
Papa, but fear he would find the sitting too wearisome. 
Aunt Charlotte's is done very carefully — the head quite as 
finished as anything I have painted. 

You will be glad to hear that I have at last some news of 
Woolner and B[ernhard] Smith. The former has written to 
his father, and the latter to his brother. At Edward Smith's 
last night we had a regular meet for reading the letters. It 
seems that the two went in succession to all the Diggings, 
or nearly so, during a period of seven months, and were 
uniformly unsuccessful, working always as hard as navigators, 
or harder. . . . After the seven months' digging W[oolner] 
resolved on returning to Melbourne to try his luck at sculpture, 
and here, I am delighted to say, he seems in a fair way of 
complete success. He has done several medallions at £2^ 
each — one of Mr. La Trobe, the Governor of the Settlement 
— and there is a prospect of his getting a commission for 


a Statue of the Queen to be erected there ; in which case 
we may probably see him back as soon as next summer to 
work at it in London. He has sent two AustraHan papers in 
which he is spoken of most highly, and both of which quote 
William's notices of his works, from the Spectator, as con- 
clusive as to his position in England ; so that William has 
probably been of some real use to him. One of them says 
that " Mr. Woolner is a gentleman of very affable and agree- 
able manners," which is rather rich. One bad thing is that 
the present Governor, who has been very friendly to Woolner, 
and is a cousin of Bateman, has been recalled, and will shortly 
leave the Colony. It is to be hoped W[oolner]'s luck will 
not go with hhn. W[oolner] is staying with Dr. Howitt 
(brother of W. Howitt), who as w^ell as all his family are most 
kind to W[oolner], and greatly taken with him — as T know 
from some letters Mrs. Howitt here has had from them. . . . 
Bernhard has gone to the farm of a brother of his about 
thirty miles from Melbourne, and I believe has been making 
interest to get into the " Gold Commission." 

Will you tell Christina that Mrs. Howitt asked me the 
other day whether she could print the Summer Evening in 
a collection of translations from the German which are to 
be splendidly illustrated, and to which the publishers have 
asked her to add a few original English ones ? For the same 
collection she asked me to contribute something, and I gave 
a ghastly ballad called Sister Helen. The Aikin's Year, 
where Christina's poem was to have been, it seems, is delayed 
for the present. 

. I fear there is not much more news. Hunt and Brown 
are both I believe well, though I have seen neither very 
lately. I called the other night on poor Deverell, who is 
very ill indeed, and I have heard even that his doctor says 
he cannot live over next summer, if so long. But I hope this 
is an exaggeration. He is in good spirits, the same as ever, 
and I told him it was all stuff. He is full of troubles as to 
maintaining the family since his father's death. 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1853. 1^9 

F 3. 

" Miss Barbara Smith " is better known to the present generation 
as Mrs. Bodichon ; a most admirable woman, full of noble zeal in 
every good cause, and endowed with a fine pictorial capacity. Mrs. 
Orme — whom Thackeray called " a jolly fellow " — was the sister-in-law 
of Mr. Coventry Patmore. Hers too was a rich abundant nature, 
only partially indicated in Thackeray's phrase, for her whole type 
of character was most essentially that of a woman, and not a man ; 
among many kind friends of my youth she was nearly the kindest 
of all. Marshall, who was consulted in Deverell's illness, was .the 
Mr. John Marshall so often mentioned in these pages. Mr. Burrows 
(afterwards a Canon of Rochester) was the Incumbent of Christ 
Church, Albany Street, which my female relatives attended with 
extreme constancy. 

I am sure that some of my readers will laugh over the sonnet 
(or rather quasi-sonnet of fifteen lines) on MacCracken, parodied 
from Tennyson. It is (otherwise I would not publish it) a mere 
piece of rollicking fun, without the least real sting in it ; for 
MacCracken was my brother's mainstay in his most struggling years, 
and was well recognized and appreciated as such by my brother 
himself. Of course the inspiration of the sonnet is the resemblance 
between the sounds Kraken and MacCracken ; and Mr. MacCracken 
would never have been accused of " spungings," of perpetrating 
a " secret sell," and of a determination to " lie," had it not been 
that Tennyson's sonnet contained similar words or sounds, and the 
temptation to misapply them was irresistible. As a specimen of 
parody, I know not where to find a more felicitous thing than 
this. As a picture of facts its value is less than nil : except 
indeed for its clear implication that Rossetti would have liked to 
get bigger prices for his performances, from MacCracken or from 
any one, if only he could have got them. 

Tuesday [8 November 1853]. 

Dear Christina, 

I have written lately to Papa and Mamma (by the 
bye, has the former got my letter?), but it is some time 
since I have enlightened you. Maria showed me the other 
day two poems of yours which are among the best you have 
written for some time : only the title of one — SometJiing like 
Truth — seems " very like a whale." What does it mean ? 


The latter verses of this are most excellent ; but some, which 
I remember vaguely, about " dreaming of a lifelong ill " 
(etc. etc. ad libituvi), smack rather of the old shop. I wish 
you would try any rendering either of narrative or sentiment 
from real abundant Nature, which presents much more variety, 
even in any one of its phases, than all such " dreamings." 

Allingham has just come to town, and with him and 
William I went last night to the Howitts. Anna Mary's 
excitement on your subject has not subsided, and she still 
hopes, when you come to town, not to miss you again. She 
has painted a sunlight picture of Margaj^et (Faust) in a 
congenial wailing state, which is much better than I fancied 
she could paint. 1 am going down some time by daylight 
to give her some hints about the colour. I wish there were 
any chance of my ever doing the same for you, but I am 
afraid you find art interfere with the legitimate exercise of 
anguish. Ah if you were only like Miss Barbara Smith ! 
a young lady T meet at the Howitts', blessed with large 
rations of tin, fat, enthusiasm, and golden hair, who thinks 
nothing of climbing up a mountain in breeches, or wading 
through a stream in none, in the sacred name of pigment. 
Last night she invited us all to lunch with her on Sunday ; 
and perhaps I shall go, as she is quite a Jolly fellow — which 
was Thackeray's definition of Mrs. Orme. 

Mr. Orme has just received a letter from Woolncr, which 
I think I may perhaps be able to send you when it shall 
have been seen to-night at a supper which Allingham gives 
to Hunt, Hannay, Stephens, W[illiam], and self Hunt still 
talks of starting for Paris on the 15th, whence he will proceed 
with Seddon to Egypt possibly, or at any rate somewhither. 
Millais, I just hear, was last night elected Associate. 

" So now the whole Round Table is dissolved." 

You know — do you not ? — of poor Deverell's illness. 
Marshal], whom you have heard me speak of, went the other 
day to see him, and quite confirmed his own doctor's decision 
(which I had hoped might be a mistaken one) that he docs 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1853. 121 

not seem to have six months' life in him. He says, however, 
there may be a chance if he is very careful. I wanted him 
to come and take possession of one of my rooms, thinking 
it would be more cheerful for him ; but it seems he rnust not 
think of stirring out. I fear he does not know his danger, 
as he talks still of going, as soon as he is better, to paint the 
background of a picture at the London Docks. He has, 
strangely enough, begun another picture which he calls TJie 
Doctor s Last Visit — where a doctor is trying to explain to 
the assembled family of a sick man that there is no hope. 
His spirits are, I think, the same as ever, and in the evenings 
he does not seem to suffer much . . . but in the morning, I 
believe, is his worst time. His complaint is described as 
" Dr. Bright's disease of the kidneys." 

This is not very cheerful. Sunday night Maria and I 
went to see Mr. Burrows after attending service at his church. 
I liked him very well, but he rather reminded me of Patmore 
in manner. The decorations at Christ Church are very poor 
— four gilt Corinthian capitals ; item, one pulpit-cloth with 
seven white stars, etc. etc. 

I managed to finish Aunt Charlotte's portrait before she 
left town, except that I find I shall want one more sitting 
to work on the hands. I have ordered the frame, and, when 
that comes, shall take the picture to Park Village. Aunt 
Eliza is coming here to-morrow (9th November) to bask in 
the ecstasy of the Lord Mayor's Show ! 

I do not know that I have any more to say, except that I 
will subjoin two sonnets — one by Tennyson, and the other 
a parody on it. The latter, I must say, is perhaps rather a 
stern view of the character. 

Love to all. 



" Below the thunders of the upper deep — 
Far far beneath in the abysmal sea — 
His ancient dreamless uninvaded sleep 

The Kraken sleepeth. Fainter sunhghts flee 


About his shadowy sides: above him swell 

Huge sponges of millennial growth and height: 

And far away into the sickly light, 
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell, 
Unnumbered and enormous polypi 

Winnow with giant fins the slumbering green. 
There he has lain for ages, and will lie, 
Battening upon huge sea-worms in his sleep, 
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep. 

Then, once by men and angels to be seen. 
In roaring he shall rise, and on the surface die." 



Getting his pictures, like his supper, cheap, 

Far far away in Belfast by the sea, 
His watchful one-eyed uninvaded sleep 

MacCracken sleepeth. While the P.R.B. 
Must keep the shady side, he walks a swell 

Through spungings of perennial growth and heiglit : 

And far away in Belfast out of sight, 
By many an open do and secret sell, 
Fresh daubers he makes shift to scarify. 

And fleece with pliant shears the slumbering 'green. 
There he has Hed, though aged, and will He, 
Fattening on ill-got pictures in his sleep. 
Till some Prseraphael prove for him too deep. 

Then, once by Hunt and Ruskin to be seen. 
Insolvent he will turn, and in the Queen's Bench die. 

E 4- 

Thursday evening. 

Dearest Father, me for having so long ago received your dear 
letter without as yet replying. I heard lately with the 
greatest sorrow the bad news of your health. But from what 
I hear now I trust that you find yourself a little better. I 
would like to say, viucJi. 

I can't yet say that I have read the Arpa Evangelica right 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 853. I23 

through ; but I have read many compositions in it since I 
wrote last, and I specially remember that addressed To the 
Guardian Angel d^s one of the most beautiful, and on an idea 
which has always seemed to me one of the most poetical that 
can be treated. 

Some days ago I showed the Arpa, as your latest work, 
to a certain Signor Ventura, who came to me as the only 
Rossetti he could find in the Directory, and thinking that 
here he would find you. He brought you the respects of a 
certain Signor Palizzi of Vasto, and also of the brothers of the 
latter, all of them readers of yours. Ventura himself seemed 
to know all your works, except this last one ; he informed 
me he does not belong to Vasto, but to Central Italy. I told 
him I would give you his message when first I wrote. 
. I greatly grieve, as we all must, for the death of my dear 
Grandfather, for whom I have always entertained a sincere 
affection. It would at least have been a slight consolation 
if he could once have recognized his family before passing 

In your letter, my dear Father, you speak of my profession. 
I can assure you that now I am not negligent in that respect. 
With me progress always is, and always will be, gradual in 
everything. Of late also health has not been favourable to 
me ; but now I am well and at work, and I also find pur- 
chasers, and I can see before me, much more clearly than 
hitherto, the path to success. How much do I owe you, and 
how much trouble have I given you, dearest Father, in this 
and in all matters ! Needless were it to ask your loving 
heart to pardon me ; but I must always beg you to believe 
in the real and deep affection with which I remain 
Your loving Son, 

Dante Gabriele Rossettl 

The Signor Palizzi mentioned in this letter may probably be (or 
may have been, for I assume that he is no longer alive) a painter 
of considerable repute for pictures with telling groups of goat-herds, 
etc. ; he stood well in the annual Paris Exhibitions. This was 


Filippo Palizzi ; one of his brothers, Giuseppe, was also a painter 
of good position. — Our Grandfather, Gaetano Pohdori, had died of 
apoplexy on i6 December 1853. He had reached the age of eighty- 
• nine, retaining, not much impaired, his strength and faculties to 
the last. 

GiovEDi Sera. 
12 Janua)y [1854]. 

Carissimo Padre, 

Scusatemi che da tanto tempo ho ricevuto la vostra 
cara lettera, senza averci ancora risposto. Ho sentito ultima- 
mente con grandissimo rammarico le cattive nuove della 
vostra salute. Ma, da quel che sento ora, spero che vi trovate 
un poco meglio ; vorrei dir, molto. 

Non ancora posso dirvi di aver letta in tutto V Arpa 
Evangelica ; ma ne ho lette parecchie composizioni da che 
vi ho scritto I'ultima volta, e specialmente mi rammento 
quella diretta AlC Angela Cusiode come una delle piia belle, 
e sopra un' idea che mi e sempre paruta una delle piu 
poetiche che si possa trattare. 

Giorni fa, ho mostrato /' Arpa, come ultimo vostro lavoro, 
ad un certo Signor Ventura, il quale venne da me come 
essendo il solo Rossetti trovato da lui nel Directory, e pen- 
sando che qui vi troverebbe. Esso vi porto i rispetti d'un 
certo Signor Palizzi del Vasto, ed anche dei fratelli di questo, 
tutti lettori vostri. Anche questo Ventura pareva conoscere 
tutte le vostre opere, eccetto quest 'ultima : esso mi disse non 
essere del Vasto ma dell' Italia Centrale. lo gli dissi che vi 
darei il suo messaggio, quando prima vi avrei da scrivere. 

lo mi dolgo grandemente, come dobbiamo fare tutti, della 
morte del mio caro avo, pel quale ho avuto sempre un sincero 
affetto. Sarebbe stato almeno qualche poco di consolazione 
s'egli avesse potuto riconoscere una volta la famiglia prima 
di spirare. 

Nella lettera vostra, caro padre, mi parlate della mia pro- 
fessione. Vi posso assicurare che non sono trascurato adesso 
in questo riguardo. Con me il progresso e sempre, e sara 
sempre, graduale in tutto, ne ultimamente mi e stata favore- 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 854- 1 25 

vole la salute ; ma adesso sto bene, e lavoro, e trovo anche 
compratori ; e mi vcggo innanzi, molto piu chiaramente che 
sin' adesso, la via della buona riuscita. Quanto vi debbo, e 
quanta pena vi ho dato, carissimo padre, in questo e in tutto ! 
Non ci e bisogno ch' io domandi al vostro amoroso cuore di 
perdonarmi ; ma debbo sempre pregarvi di credere al vero e 
profondo afifetto con cui mi segno 

il vostro amoroso figlio, 

Dante Gabriele Rossettl 

C 25. 

Friday 3 February 1854.] 

Dear William, 

I had already heard from the family of poor Deverell's 

I should like to meet Millais this evening, but do not know 
whether I shall feel in sufficiently good spirits to come out. 

C 26. 

"Allingham [Mr. William Allingham the poet — he died in 1889] 
has been looking over her poems " : this means " looking over 
Christina's poems " — not Lizzy's. The " publisher " desiderated 
was not secured until 1862. 

My dear William, 

[14 Chatham Place.] 
Tuesday [28 March 1854]. 

Tell Christina that, if she will come here on Thursday, 
Lizzy will be here. ... I shall be glad if she will come, as 1 
have told Lizzy she mentioned her wish to do so. 

Allingham has been looking over her poems, and is de- 
lighted with many of them. I am going to lend them him 
(trusting in her permission to do so), that he may give his 
opinion as to which will be the best for a volume. Lizzy 
will illustrate, and I have no doubt we shall get a publisher. 


B li 

As to " Robertsbridge "• and "Wilkinson" the Memoir gives 
needful explanation ; Scalands near Robertsbridge being the 
property of Miss Barbara Leigh Smith, and Dr. Wilkinson being 
an eminent Homoeopathic Physician whom the Howitts had 
recommended Miss Siddal to consult. 

[My address will be] 5 High Street, Hastings. 

\AIay 1854.] 

My dear Mamma, 

I found Lizzie apparently rather better than other- 
wise ; at any rate not worse, either by her own account or 
by appearances. Some of her bad symptoms are certainly 
abating, and her spirits, she says, are much better. I have 
been staying at the Inn here ; but move to-day to Mrs. 
Elphick's, 5 High Street, where Guggum is, and where 
my lodging will cost Zs., I believe. Barbara Smith and 
Anna Mary came down to see Lizzie yesterday from Roberts- 
bridge, some miles from here, where they are staying ; and 
we all took a walk together, which did not seem to fatigue 
Lizzie much. There are several other ladies who have been 
most attentive to Lizzie, and every one adores the dear. No 
one thinks it at all odd my going into the Gug's room to sit 
there ; and Barbara Smith said to the landlady how un- 
advisable it would be for her to sit with me in a room 
without fire. 

I wrote yesterday, from her own lips, a most minute 
account of her state to Wilkinson, and expect his reply. I 
cannot think that there is any need of her going into the 
Sussex Infirmary as proposed. 

She and I are going to Robertsbridge to-morrow to spend 
the day. The weather has turned, and become most delicious. 
The sea to-day looks like enamel in the sun, and there is 
a cool breeze. I write this waiting for breakfast at 8 a.m. (!) 
Yesterday I saw the sun rise ! ! ! over the sea — the most 
wonderful of earthly sights. This morning I was awake 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1854- 127 

in time too ; but there was less beauty in the dawn, though 
the day promises to be even more lovely than yesterday. 

But I fear you cannot even yet be much in a mood for 
hearing of these things. I myself feel more at ease since 
seeing Lizzie, but nevertheless was not the merriest of our 
party yesterday. 

Bye-bye, Bunk. Love to all. 

Your most affectionate Son, 


P.S. — Perhaps I may be bothering William before long to 
send some painting-things from my rooms, but am not sure 
how long I stay. Will he go round and see if Ruskin's books 
have reached there for me, and will you let me know if you 
write ? 

C 27. 

" Ruskin's letter " was the letter about the Prseraphaelites which 
Mr. Ruskin got printed in the Times about this date. Collins was 
Charles Allston Collins, a young painter much under Millais's in- 
fluence, and (though not a member of the " Brotherhood ") practically 
a Prseraphaelite. That my brother should have regarded " ^50 for 
the water-colour" (I think the water-colour of Dante drawing an 
Angel, previously referred to) as "a princely style of thing" shows 
how scanty was then the market for his productions ; although of 
course it was liberal in Mr. MacCracken to pay ;^52 10^. (I appre- 
hend that to be the exact sum) for a work which he had originally 
(as previous letters show) commissioned for ^^fi \^s. 

5 High Street, Hastings. 

Thursday [11 May 1854]. 

My dear William, 

I wish you would tell people I am not dead, but by 
no means encouraging the idea of such an amount of life 
as at all facilitates human intercourse. It is rather slow here, 
and generally very windy, though often glorious sunlight. 
Tell Allingham if you see him that, should he have an idea 
of coming to Hastings, I wish he would carry it out ; and 


that, if he can only spare a day or so, his best plan would 
be to take a return ticket on Saturday, which costs iJ"! (second 
class), and will bring him back by the last train on Monday. 
Or if you could do this yourself, do. I want to know some- 
thing of all things — how do people talk of Hunt's pictures ? 
I saw Ruskin's letter. Had the Times been cheeky ? How 
is Collins hung ? And is there anything worth description 
in the R. A. ? I suppose you have begun in the Spec. If 
you could send me that public organ I should be thankful. 

Lizzy seems upon the whole a little better, and Wilkinson 
judges so from the long account of her symptoms which 
we sent. She and I spent a pleasant day on Monday at 
Scalands, where Barbara and Anna Mary have been staying. 
They made themselves very jolly, and it is a most stunning 
country there. I heard from MacCrac, who offers £^o for 
the water-colour, with all manner of soap and sawder into 
the bargain — a princely style of thing. 

There seem to be several places tolerably within range 

hereabouts which we ought to see, and shall set about seeing ; 

but Lizzy is not capable of too much exertion. T dare say 

I shall very soon be boring you to send my painting-things 

from London, but almost think I shall have to come myself 

when I want them. . . . 


D. G. R. 

There is a very rich skit on A. Smith, Balder, etc., in 
Blackwood, professing to be a review of Finnilian, a Tragedy 
by Percy Jojies. You should see it, and tell Allingham. 

C 28. 

The " relative " of Miss Barbara Smith, connected with a Sana- 
torium, was probably the celebrated Miss Nightingale, who towards 
the close of 1854 went out to the Crimea. Miller must be Mr. John 
Miller of Liverpool — an elderly Scotch gentleman, a merchant, a 
prime mover in artistic matters in Liverpool, and admirably kind 
and energetic in all his doings. He had apparently some claim 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 854. I29 

upon Deverell's picture of Twelfth Night, and there was a proposal 
of raffling it for the advantage of the painter's surviving relatives. 
Mr. Gambart (I need perhaps hardly say) was at this time the 
most enterprizing picture-dealer in London. 

S High Street, Hastings. 

14 May 1854. 

My dear William, 

As you ask about the weather here on behalf of some 
invalid, I write to say that it is just beginning to be decidedly 
warm — to-day rather oppressively so, seeming to forebode 
a storm. After which I hope the air may be purer and no 
less genial. Till the last day or two it had been almost 
uniformly windy, though often fine weather. 

Lizzy went this morning to see a Dr. Hale, to whom Dr. 
Wilkinson has recommended her, and who advises her to 
leave this part of Hastings as being liable to get too hot at 
this time of year, and to go nearer the sea. He thinks her 
state requires the very greatest care, and gave her some 
directions. She seems much the same, in fact, I think, 
though sometimes rather weaker or stronger. 

* -* * * -* * 

I see the AtJiencBitni here, so need not trouble you for it, 
but should be glad of the Spec. What do you think of 
Poole's picture ? and of Collins ? 

The indefatigable and invaluable Barbara has been getting 
up a plan for Lizzy's entering another place, since we rejected 
the Sussex Hospital. This is the " Sanatorium " which she 
describes as being in Harhy Street, New Road, London, 
" where governesses and ladies of small means are taken in 
and cured." It contains only about twenty or thirty patients 
or so, and is, she says, most admirably managed, the object 
being to make it as much like a home as possible. It 
seems Miss Smith has a relation connected with the manage- 
ment of this place, and has already made arrangements by 
which Miss Siddal can enter at once if she likes, or else 
put it off for a little and then enter. She wrote to her about 
it this morning, and certainly it seems a not unpleasant 

VOL. n. 9 


plan if necessary. I wish now that Maggy would oblige 
me by enquiring of Aunt Charlotte, or any one else who 
might be at all likely to have heard of the place, any par- 
ticulars that could be got, and writing them to me as soon 
as possible. I should be much obliged. 
Love to all. 


D. G. R. 

I wish I had thought of getting that shawl which Aunt 
Charlotte kindly promised me for Lizzy before I left London, 
as it would be just the thing. Remember me most kindly to 
Scott if you see him. 

If you are seeing Millais, I wish you would ask him 
whether he knows anything of Deverell's Twelfth Night which 
Miller sent to Gambart, or of the projected raffle. I called 
one day at Gambart's, but he was then out of town. 

C 29. 

" I wrote at some length to Ruskin the other day." The acquaint- 
ance of my brother with Mr. Ruskin began in April 1854, when 
Ruskin addressed him by letter. The initials which I give — A. B, 
and D — are not the correct initials. 

17 May 1854. 

Dear William, 

I return the Spec, for which thanks. Lizzy is obliged 
for Maggie's information about the Sanatorium. I wrote at 
some length to Ruskin the other day. Why do you not 
mention Collins in the Spec. ? Munro writes to me that there 
is mention of me with Hunt and Millais in Ruskin's Lectures 
just out. Have you seen or can you tell me of it ? 

Calder Campbell writes to me, " Surely you will not con- 
tinue to respect the woman who weds [A. B.]." Can you 
interpret ? I can conceive no one he can mean but Miss 
[D.], and this seems impossible. Besides, I thought [A. B.] 


was married. But I know old C [alder] C[ampbell] dwells 
in a region of unnamed horror and Juvenalian combination, 
and this may be a fowl of the air after its kind. I have 
written to him to ask an explanation. 

I shall soon, I think, be back in town when T have any tin 
to take me there, which I have not at present. I must come 
up to see about replenishing my colour-box, etc., before 
beginning Found, even if I come down here again ; also to 
fetch various things. 


This a stunning crib, but rather slow. Remember me to 
every one. Lizzy is much the same. Where do you think 
of going this summer ? 


. C 30. 

Dear William, 

Thursday 25 May 1854. 

I think I shall not be in town till the beginning of 
next week, though I thought to have been there before this. 
Lizzy seems rather weaker the last day or two, though I trust 
not permanently, and I do not like to leave her just at this 

I heard from Millais yesterday, who it seems is leaving 
or has left London, and tells me AUingham is going back to 
Ireland and the Customs. I trust not till I can see him 

Miss Smith has lent me Ruskin's Lectures, where there is 
only a slight though very friendly mention of me. They are 
very interesting. 

1 am sending you back the Spec, and write these few words 
to tell you of my delay in leaving here, but am not in any 
writing mood, so good-bye. 

Your affectionate Brother, 


Love to Mamma and all. 


A 14. 

The oil-picture here mentioned must apparently be Found. 

14 Chatham Place. 
Monday \_Aug21st 1854]. 

My DEAR Aunt Charlotte, 

I am afraid you will guess, before reading this letter, 
what it is likely to relate to. I am in a very great difficulty 
for money, and unless by your kind assistance (if you are 
able to afford it me) really do not know how to extricate 
myself from it. I have two water-colours in hand, and am 
beginning an oil-picture. The last, and one of the former, 
I believe I may consider already sold (to Messrs, Ruskin 
and MacCracken) as soon as they are finished ; but mean- 
while I am utterly at a loss for the means of getting models 
etc. to carry them on. One of the water-colours, at any 
rate, I hope will not be very long before it is finished, if I 
am only able to go on with it without being utterly swamped 
for want of money. I assure you I have not forgotten your 
kindness last year in lending me £\2, nor my promise to 
return the loan ; but I assure you that this has been hitherto 
simply impossible. If you can and will now assist me again, 
and I am thus enabled to get through with the works I have 
in hand, I have every reason to hope that I shall then have 
it in my power (as I shall most sincerely wish and intend) 
to return you, if not all at once at least by degrees, both this 
and the former loan. It is my hope indeed to return one 
day all that you have so kindly lent me from time to time ; 
but I feel almost discouraged from saying so, lest, in my 
present inability to do so, it should seem like a mere 

I have long been hoping to get through with something, 
and obtain some money without the necessity of trespassing 
again on your kindness. But I now find that, unless I do 
so, I can see before me no means of proceeding with my 
work ; besides that some rent which I already owe here 
is being continually applied for, and worrying me to such 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 8 54- ^33 

an extent as to deprive me of the peace of mind necessary 
for working well. Nor, even had I paid this rent, could I get 
rid of one source of expense by leaving these rooms ^at least 
not without great detriment to my work, besides great inter- 
ruption — since the oil-picture I am beginning is an open-air 
scene, requiring absolutely a large amount of light, which I 
should have difficulty in finding elsewhere so well as here. 

Could you lend me ^25, or if possible ^^^30? But 
perhaps I am asking much more than I have any right to 
ask, or than your circumstances (even if you are willing 
again to afford me this chance) will permit you to grant. 
Less than iJ"20 it would be of little service to me to ask, as 
it would be merely to fall into difficulties again immediately, 
before I had been able to make any considerable progress 
with my pictures. 

I know you must indeed be weary of applications like this 
from me, and am almost hopeless of my ever making that 
way in my profession which I ought to make, and placing 
myself in an independent position. But, if 1 am only able 
to get my present works done, no time could well be more 
favourable than the present for making a sure step in 
advance, as anything I finish now is almost if not quite 
certain of sale. 

I must now leave what I have said to your consideration. 
If you consider yourself justified in rendering me this assist- 
ance, I know your kindness too well to suppose that you will 
not do so. And I hope indeed that you may think so ; 
since it is the only means I can see of avoiding a complete 
interruption to my work at a moment when it is most im- 
portant to me that I should continue it. When you were 
last in town I was still hoping to avoid the necessity of 
making this request, but I find now that there is really no 
other way. I shall await your answer most anxiously — and 

Your aff"ectionate Nephew, 



A 15. 
Muntham was the seat of Lady Bath — not far from Arundel in 
Sussex. My brother's landlord in Chatham Place was a legal gentle- 
man, Mr. Benthall. 

[14 Chatham Place]. 
IVednesdaj mor7iing {August 1854.] 

My dear Aunt, 

Many thanks indeed for the great kindness and 
promptness of your answer and enclosure ; it rescues me 
from a greater difficulty than I have been in for some time. 
I trust most sincerely that you will hear of and see some 
results from it before many months, in the shape of work 
finished. I really do not know how to thank you enough. I 
dare say there will be no difficulty about the form of the order, 
but, if there is, I will send it back at once, as you direct. 

I heard two days ago from Mr. Ruskin, who is at 
Chamounix, and received from him the very valuable present 
of all his works — including eight volumes, three pamphlets, 
and some large folio plates of Venetian architecture. He 
wished me to accept these as a gift, but it is such a costly 
one that I have told him I shall make him a small water- 
colour in exchange — which idea seems to please him. Besides 
this he wants a sketch of mine as a commission. If you at 
any time wish to read any of his works, I have them at 
your service. 

I suppose it is as hot at Muntham as here. Here it has 
been almiost insufferable these two days — very favourable, I 
fear, to the spread of cholera. Yesterday the smell from 
the river was so bad that I was obliged to go out. To-day 
I am glad to find it much decreased. 

I was lately at the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, which 
is really well worth a visit, or indeed more than one. The 
Mediaeval and Byzantine Courts interested me especially. 
The Alhambra also is very beautiful. 

Believe me, my dear Aunt, 

Your most affectionate Nephew, 


FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 8 54. I35 

P.S. — On getting the order, I sent it to my landlord, to 
see if he could get it cashed at once, and pay his rent out 
of it — making sure he would find it all right. He tells me, 
however, that it is necessary that Lady Bath should write 
her initials across the face of Her Majesty on the stamp ; 
also that you should write on the back of the order, at the 
end where the stamp is, " Pay D. G. Rossetti Esq., or order, 
C. Polidori " ; and finally that I should write my signature 
after yours before presenting it at the Bank. These pre- 
liminaries, he says, are now indispensable (being perhaps 
recently introduced, for what I know) ; so it is a good thing 
the bill is dated for Saturday, as there will be time for its 
return to London by then, if you will kindly attend to these 
particulars. My landlord, who is a most excellent and civil 
fellow, did not make these objections in any captious spirit, 
but he assured me that he was quite certain there would be 
a difficulty made at the Bank, if they were not attended to. 


This letter was written from the house of Mr. Madox Brown at 
Finchley. My brother was staying there awhile — painting, I think, 
the calf in his picture of Found. The Rintouls were the family of 
the editor of the Spectator. 

"Tin," in the sense of "money," and a few other items of 
schoolboy slang, occur passim in my brother's letters. He and I 
had been schoolboys together, and a sort of uninterrupted tradi- 
tion of schoolboy bonhomie lingered about the use of such words 
between us. 

Sunday night [19 Nmcmber 1854]. 

Dear William, 

Is the ticket of Ruskin's that you have for me transfer- 
able ? If so, will you send it on to Lizzy, as she would like 
to use it, I believe ? Does it admit more than one person ? 
If not available for her, will you let me know at once, and 
also whether you will be in the way of getting more without 


bother, and can furnish her and Miss Howitt, and Barbara 
if possible? as otherwise I shall write to Ruskin, I think, 
myself. If you will be able to get such three tickets, would 
you send them to Lizzy at my place, as I should like her to 
do the civil by sending them to Barbara Smith and Anna 
Mary Howitt ? I mean, of course, if you're going about tickets 
for Rintouls or others. 

Can you fix a day to come and dine with Brown at six — 
or on Sunday earlier if you like ? He tells me to ask you. 
Brown adds, if you come on Sunday you will have the anguish 
of missing me. Please don't forget — but I know you won't — 
about that tin — as soon and as much as you can manage. . , , 
Hoping to hear soon. 


D. G. R. 

C 32. 

Where a is printed in this letter, the original gives a rapid 

hieroglyphic of a dove, by which my brother indicated Miss Siddal. 

[14 Chatham Place. 
12 April 1855.] 

Dear W , 

I'm wanting much to see this evening ; and, as 

I have not found her in just now^, must go again this evening, 
and am dining meanwhile with Hannay, I therefore apolo- 
gize duly for not meeting you, and going on to see Ruskin, 
whom I saw this morning, and who is going to settle iri5o a 

year immediately on ! ! ! This is no joke, but fact. I 

shall bring her on Saturday to tea. 

A 16. 

The College here mentioned is the Working Men's College 
founded by the Rev. Frederick D. Maurice ; Mr. Ruskin had a 
drawing-class there, and had prompted Rossetti to undertake 
another. Lord Ashburton was a near relative (I think brother) 
of Lady Bath. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — I 85 5. 1 37 

Blackfriars Bridge. 
Thursday [3 May 1855]. 

Dear Aunt Charlotte, 

If, as you propose, Lady Bath and Lord Ashburton will 
drive to the College any time between half-past seven till ten 
on Monday evening, and ask for me, that will do well ; or, if 
she preferred my meeting her anywhere else, I should be 
happy to do just as she liked. To see the system of teaching 
in full force, they ought by rights to visit Mr. Ruskin's class 
some Thursday evening as well — as his class is of longer 
standing and far better organized than mine. After your 
first message (viz., that Lady Bath wished to go some 
Thursday evening, which I find was owing to a misappre- 
hension) I asked Mr. Ruskin about it, and he said it would 
give him much pleasure. 

Thanks for your sympathy with Miss Siddal, whose good 
fortune could not have been better deserved, or more gratifying 
to her than to me. I hope to introduce her to you some day 
at Albany Street. Mr. Ruskin has now settled on her £\^o 
a year, and is to have all she does up to that sum. He is 
likely also to be of great use to me personally (for the use to 
her is also use to me), and I am doing two or three water- 
colours for him. He is the best friend I ever had out of 
my own family ; or, at any rate, I never had a better, not 
to do injustice to one or two more. I hope to go with you 
one day to the College, as you say, and wish you could make 
one of our party to-day. A modelling class is immediately 
to be added to our drawing-classes, the masters of which will 
be my friends Woolner and Munro. 

B 19. 

This long letter seems to call for only one note — viz.: that my 
brother was mistaken in supposing that the Marchioness of Water- 
ford was the same person as " Lady Seymour, Queen of Beauty at 
the [Eglintoun] Tournament." 


[14 Chatham Place]. 
Sunday night, July isi [1855.] 

Dear Mamma, 

Ever since you left I have been intending to write to 
you, and 1 hope you have not fancied I forgot you, as I know 
you would not forget me. I have been busy at times, and 
at times very ill at ease, though indeed neither of these is 
really an excuse for so long a silence, which your affection 
will best make allowance for. I have been pleased to hear 
such good accounts of Christina, who I hope continues equally 
stronger and better. But I also hope you are better now, 
and was truly grieved to hear you had been so far from well. 
I often fancy you together at Hastings, taking some of the 
trips probably that I took last year, and certainly rambling 
about the hills, which grow rather monotonous, but I dare 
say you have longer patience with them. You know, no 
doubt, that spot on the East Hill where there is something 
which looks far off like a ruin, but proves, if I remember 
rightly, to be nothing but a blocked-up door of some kind. 
On its side Lizzy and I scratched our initials last year — 
along the corner of one side, I think. If you are that way, 
will you try and discover them? Is a very dark gipsy- 
looking little girl of about thirteen still in the habit of 
running about on the East Hill with a very fine baby sister? 
I made a sketch of them, and Lizzy had the girl home 
and drew her. I used always to think her the image of 
savage active health ; but Lizzy afterwards discovered that, 
as soon as the cold weather came on every year, she was 
seized with ague and unable to stir out in the winter; 
owing no doubt to long disregard of weather and frequent 
privation of food. 

Another place where L[izzy] and I scratched our initials 
was a stone at the Old Roar, a very pretty place indeed and 
not very far — I forget now in precisely what direction, but 
you would easily find out. But perhaps you have been. Our 
stone would lie to your right as you stood with your back 
to the fall, and a little way in front of you. ,By the bye, the 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1855. 139 

fall seems to have fallen most completely and successfully, 
for we couldn't see it. 

1 fancy Barbara Smith must now be again at her brother's 
farm near Robertsbridge, a railway trip fi'om Hastings. If 
you would like it, I would find out whether this is the case, 
and if so write B[arbara] S[mith] word of your whereabouts, 
as she must often be at Hastings, and has long greatly wished 
for Christina's acquaintance ; so no doubt she would soon 
turn up if you have any fancy for a little society, and would 
invite you to spend a day sometimes at the farm, a very 
lovely place. Another acquaintance of mine — Mr. Smith, 
chemist of George Street — you might have an opportunity 
of patronizing if you liked. . . . 

I dare say you will have heard something of Lizzy's and 
my movements from Maggie. She is somewhat better from 
her trip to Clevedon, and will very soon be in the country 
again, I trust. She, Maggie, and I, are going to dine with 
Ruskin on Friday next. Ruskin has been to Tunbridge 
Wells and Dover ; he was far from well, but has returned 
looking and being much better. He is very hard at work 
on the third volume of Modern Painters, who, I tell him, will 
be old masters before the work is ended. Have you seen 
his pamphlet on the R. A. Exhibition? If you would care 
to see it, I shall have the 3rd edition from him, I believe, in 
a day or two, and would send it you. Gift-books have rather 
poured in on me lately : Hannay's new novel, Eustace Con- 
yers, very first-rate in Hannay's qualities, and a decided 
advance on Fontenoy ; AUingham's new collection of Poems, 
where there are some illustrations by Hughes, one by Millais, 
and one which used to be by me till it became the exclu- 
sive work of Dalziel, who cut it. I was resolved to cut it 
out, but Allingham would not, so I can only wish Dalziel 
had the credit as well as the authorship. I have also a 
very well-written pamphlet on the War by one Lushington, 
a new acquaintance of mine on the Council of the W[orking] 
M[en's] Coll[ege], and a book on Proverbs (I think) by 
Trench, given me by another Working Men's Councillor. 


Any of these I could send you to read. I think you would 
like the pamphlet, and probably the last, which I haven't 
read. I have also, by the bye, Cayley's volume of Notes 
to Dante. And lastly, a pamphlet on Freemasonry, sent to 
me for poor Papa by one Mr. Taylor of Liverpool. I'll put 
in with this the letter which came with it, and which I 

While Ruskin was at the seaside I painted and sent him 
a water-colour of The Nativity, done in a week, price fifteen 
guineas. I thought and think it one of my best, but R[uskin] 
disappointed me by not thinking it up to my usual mark. I 
shall do him another instead, and sell that to some one else. 
At present I am doing two for him, one from Dante, and one 
begun some time ago of the Preparation for the Passover in 
the Holy Family. An astounding event is to come off to- 
morrow. The Marchioness of Waterford has expressed a 
wish to Ruskin to see me paint in water-colour, as she says 
my method is inscrutable to her. She is herself an excellent 
artist, and would have been really great, I believe, if not born 
such a swell and such a stunner. I believe that, as Lady 
Seymour, she was Queen of Beauty at the Tournament, and 
is, I have often heard, gloriously beautiful, though now rather 
past her prime. To-morrow she has appointed to come 
and see me paint, but whether I shall be able to paint at 
all under the circumstances I have my doubts. However, 
I have told a little boy to come, to paint the head of 
Christ from. He is a very nice little fellow whom I picked 
out from the Saint Martin's School the other day. He 
has a lovely head, and such a beautiful forehead that I 
thought he must be very clever, but on enquiring as to his 
favourite pursuit he rather threw me back by answering 
" buttons." Little Owens has also been sitting to me. I 
asked him whether he was often ill, as he seems very 
delicate, and was concerned (his sister, you know, having 
lately died of consumption) to be answered that he often 
was. Enquiring further into his symptoms, their leading 
character appeared to be stomach-ache, and, on continued 


analysis of the cause usually leading to this result, I arrived 
at " gooseberries." 

But the funniest boy of all was one of whom Lizzy told 
me, who accompanied her on a donkey-ride at Clevedon 
lately. He was about twelve, and after a little while opened 
a conversation by asking if there was any lions in the parts 
she comed from. Hearing no, he seemed disappointed, and 
asked her if she had ever ridden on an elephant there. He 
had last year when the beastesses was here, and, on mounting 
the elephant for a penny, he felt so joyful that he was obliged 
to give the man his other twopence, so he couldn't see the 
rest of the fair. He wished to know whether boys had to 
work for their living there, and said a gentleman had told 
him that in his country the boys were so wicked that they 
had to be shut up in large prisons. He never knew hisself 
no boy what stole anything, but he supposed in that country 
there was nothing but fruit-trees. He pulled a little blue 
flower growing out of a rock, and said that he liked to let 
flowers grow in the fields, but he liked to " catch " one when 
it grew there and take it away, because it looked such a poor 
little thing. He had a project for leading donkeys without 
beating, which consisted in holding a handful of grass within 
an inch of their noses, and inducing them to follow it. Being 
asked whether that would not be the crueller plan of the 
two, he said he had noticed donkeys would always eat even 
when they were full, so he had only to fill his donkey first. 
All that could be got in explanation of why he thought 
Lizzy some outlandish native was that he was sure she comed 
from very far, much further than he could see. 

I spent two or three very delightful days at Clevedon. 
Did you go near it when living at Frome ? The junction of 
the Severn with the Bristol Channel is there, so that the 
water is hardly brackish, but looks like sea, and you can see 
across to Wales, only eight miles off, I think. Arthur Hallam, 
on whom Tennyson wrote In Mevioriam (and who was the 
author of a pamphlet on Papa's view of Dante), is buried at 
Clevedon, and we visited his grave. We made several longish 


excursions, and saw the country for ten miles round, and 
many lovely things. Lizzy and I pulled up a quantity of 
golden water-flags, which I brought to London, and am 
having planted for my balcony. 

Besides Clevedon, I went to Oxford some weeks ago 
when Guggum was there, and met some nice people, Dr. 
Acland and his family, who, as well as many others, were 
most kind to her there — too kind, for they bothered her 
greatly with attentions. Acland wanted her to settle at 
Oxford, and said he would introduce her into all the best 
society. All the women there are immensely fond of her— 
a sister of Dr. Pusey (or daughter) seems to have been the 
one she liked best. A great swell, who is Warden of New 
College . . . showed her all the finest MSS. in the Bodleian 
Library, and paid her all manner of attentions ; winding up 
by an invitation to a special treat at his own house, which 
consisted in showing her a black beetle painted by Albert 
Durer, and having a real one fetched up from the kitchen 
to compare the two with a microscope. This she never went 
to enjoy. Acland examined her most minutely, and was 
constantly paying professional visits — all gratuitously, being 
an intimate friend of Ruskin. I went down on purpose to 
have a conversation with him about her health, and was glad 
to find that he thinks her lungs, if at all affected, are only 
slightly so, and that the leading cause of illness lies in mental 
power long pent up and lately overtaxed. Of course, though, 
he thinks very seriously of her present state, and of the care 
necessary to her gradual recovery. By his advice, she is 
likely to leave England, probably for south of France, before 
the cold weather comes on again, and must abstain from all 
work for some months yet. 

They were all most friendly to me at Oxford, and Dr. 
Acland sent me afterwards an invitation to go there on. the 
great occasion of laying the first stone of the New Museum 
the week before last ; but I did not go because of time and 
expense. I afterwards heard Tennyson and his wife had 
been there, and staying chiefly at Acland's ; I was sorry to 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1856. 1 43 

have missed them. I am asked by the architect to do some 
designing for the Museum, and probably shall. Good-night, 
dear Mamma. 

Your affectionate Son, 


B 20. 

" The Queen and Women Sewing " is the same as Hist^ said Kate 
the Queen — a subject founded upon a song in Browning's Pippa 

Wednesday {September 1855]. 

Dear Bunkum, 

Can you come to tea with Guggum and Mr. and Mrs. 
K[incaid] on Saturday evening ? Mrs. K[incaid] will sleep 
here, and then she and Liz start at seven on Sunday morn- 
ing from the Docks for Havre. . . . 

If I don't see you this evening, would you tell Williams 
... to let me have early to-morrow that sketch of the Queen 
and Women Sewing which Aunt Charlotte has of mine and 
I'm sure she'd lend me a few days, as I want to show it to 
Browning ? 


A 17. 

The Mr. Marshall here named (not to be confounded with two 
other Marshalls known to my brother) was a millionaire from Leeds, 
who had a large estate in Cumberland. In all probability he 
became owner of the Kate the Queen ; as my Aunt certainly closed 
with my brother's offer, and got him to paint a portrait of her 
younger sister Eliza Harriet Polidori. 

14 Chatham Place, Blackfriars. 

Thursday [15 May 1856]. 

My dear Aunt Charlotte, 

In writing this note, I must premise quite sincerely 
that I only wish to consult your own wishes, and that the 
matter is put for your unbiased consideration. 

A Mr. Marshall, of Eaton Square, who has bought several 


drawings of mine, and commissioned me for others, has taken 
a really violent fancy to that oil-sketch of the Queen and 
Page belonging to you and still at my study. I told him 
it was not mine ; but, as he still continues hankering after 
and regretting it, I thought I would propose a bargain to 
you, in case you should not be unwilling — i.e., in case you 
should really prefer what I propose. Thus then : Would you 
prefer if I were to paint you, instead of that little picture, 
a portrait in oil of Mamma, or of either of my aunts, or 
other member of our family ? and in that case sell the Queen 
and Page to Mr. Marshall, who I suppose would give me 
thirty or forty guineas for it. He is disposed to be very- 
useful to me, I think, in purchasing my works, and also in 
very generously paying for them, as he always declares the 
prices I ask to be trifles ; and for these reasons I should like 
to oblige him, if you would really prefer (once again) the 
course I propose — without speaking of the convenience which 
it would also very decidedly be to me at present. 

In case you should decide in the affirmative, I would 
immediately fix a day of sitting next week with Mamma, 
or whomever you might wish me to attack ; and meanwhile 
and ever am 

Your affectionate Nephew, 


A i8. 

The drawing (water-colour) from Dante's Vita Nuova appears to 
be Dante's Dreajn — a composition essentially different from the 
large oil-picture of that name now in the Walker Gallery of Liver- 
pool. The Monk must be the same subject which is entitled Fra 
Face. This letter comes to me as a half-sheet, and is, I think, 

[14 Chatham Place.] 
Monday [19 May 1856]. 

My dear Aunt Charlotte, 

I will certainly paint Aunt Eliza for you as soon as 
she comes to town. It will not be any great tax on my 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1856. 1 45 

time, as a portrait is a thing needing no forethought, and to 
be taken up at any moment. 

If Lady Bath wishes to favour me with a visit, the best 
time would be now, as I happen to have two or three things 
just finished, still by me — especially a drawing from Dante's 
Vita Nuova, which I should have much pleasure in showing 
her, and better worth seeing than The Monk, which is not 
yet finished, but which I could show her also. I should also 
very much like to show yo?i the things, if you come with Lady 
Bath, supposing she is able to give me that pleasure. 

C ZZ- 
This letter shows that I was about to leave London, and the 
P.S. mentions Freshwater; but I don't think I went to the Isle 
of Wight — only to Southampton, and thence to Normandy. Flint 
was a Stockbroker in Leeds. I forget which of my brother's pictures 
was at this date commissioned by him. The passage about Moxon 
and woodblocks refers to the designs upon which my brother was 
now engaged for Moxon's illustrated edition of Tennyson. Windus 
was a Liverpool painter who had lately exhibited in London a 
picture, which my brother heartily admired, from the old ballad of 
Burd Helen. 

[14 Chatham Place]. 
Saturday [2 August 1856]. 

Dear W , 

I've only this moment got your note, and will attend 
to it when I get the cash ; but the order for it, being 
on Leeds, had to be negotiated through a banker (of course 
without discount), and this has not yet been accomplished. 
I have no doubt it will be by Monday. If you want any, 
pray send at once (for obvious reasons), and I will send it 

I wish to Heaven I could have come with you ; but am 
at the last gasp of time with those woodcuts, which are, 
however, getting a little better forward now, I think, and 
cannot stir a foot till something more be done towards them. 
It keeps me also from beginning Flint's picture, which I 

VOL. IL 10 


must begin soon. Ten days or a fortnight hence I might 
be more at Hberty, or even a week hence perhaps, and 
probably at that time too may have to fly London and 
Moxon while I do the other woodblocks, as I cannot endure 
his pestering. So would you drop me a line at each of your 
leading movements, as nothing would give me more pleasure 
than to join you, if practicable. I shall have plenty of tin 
at present, I trust, from woodcuts, and a water-colour I have 
just finished and which I suppose some one will buy. 

I've little news. Windus wrote to me the other day asking 
me to superintend the drawing of his picture, on wood, which 
he has been asked to allow for the National Magazine, a new 
Peoples Journal thing coming out by Saunders & Marston. 
I have been twice to see Ristori — her two last nights — with a 
Rev. William Elliott, a friend of Patmore and Woolner, who 
is a tremendous Browningian. I liked her prodigiously in 
Rosmunda and in a little comedy, and think her very beauti- 
ful — not quite Rachel though, yet, or ever. I saw her in that 
beastly bosh Pellico's Francesca too, of which no acting can 
make anything. In going out of the theatre one night I 

met and her mother; and, after offering to call their 

carriage for them and being told they had it not, only having 
to go home over the way, I stupidly forgot the next duty, 
of seeing them to their door, which I remembered as soon as 
they were out- of sight. I wish if possible you'd take some 
opportunity of telling them what an ass I thought myself. 

Your affectionate Brother, 

D. G. R. 

Mamma sent three or four letters to Freshwater for you. 
Did you get them ? One of them was " On Her Majesty's 
Service," and was sent on without paying. 

The date of this letter marks the period when my brother began, 
or was about to begin, his tempera-pictures in the Union Hall in 
Oxford. The Seddon subscription was a subscription for purchasing 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 857. 1 47 

for the National Gallery Mr. Thomas Seddon's picture oi Jerusalem.) 
just after his decease. 

87 High Steet, Oxford. 

[12 August 1857.] 

Dear W , 

I send you a cheque for the Seddon subscription. I 
am here for a few days only perhaps, but perhaps rather 

D. G. R. 

Please acknowledge at once, as it isn't crossed. 

B 21. 

Miss Siddal had gone to Matlock to try the hydropathic system, 
and my brother accompanied or followed her thither. The 
" anxiety " caused to our Mother is not quite clearly defined ; 
perhaps she had for a while been uncertain as to where my brother 
had gone to, and only knew he was no longer in Oxford. I may 
add that he always retained a kindly feeling for the Cartledge family, 
with whom he had lived at Matlock, and did his best later on to 
befriend them in times less prosperous for themselves. 

At Mr. Cartledge's, 
Lime Tree View, Matlock, Derbyshire. [? 1857.] 

My dearest Mamma, 

I am most grieved that you should have been suffer- 
ing anxiety on my account, as I now know you must have 
done. Had there been the least necessity, I should not have 
failed to let you know, but there has been none whatever. I 
do not know how many days I may remain here at present ; 
but it will probably not be long before I am in London, at 
any rate for a day or so, when I trust not to miss seeing 
your dear face. You have heard no doubt from Jones, who 
opened the letter at Oxford. I have only got it this morning. 
It would be absurd in me to thank you for another proof of 
the affection which you have lavished on me all my life, and 
which is often but too little deserved. I am most ashamed 
of my disgraceful silence all the time I have been at Oxford ; 


but I am getting worse than ever as a letter-writer, though 
this should hardly apply in your dear case. 

Will you thank William for his note, and say that, as far 
as I am concerned, this would not be the time to see the 
Union, as my own work there has been interrupted for some 
weeks ? I hope to be finishing it sooner or later. This is 
an interesting and beautiful part of the country. I was 
yesterday at Haddon Hall, a glorious old place in some 


Some friends were proposing to accompany me to see the pictures 

of my brother and his colleagues in Oxford. I forget who the 

friends were, except Mr. Holman Hunt, who alone joined me when 

I actually went. 

13 George Street, Oxford. 
Friday [30 October 1857]. 

Dear W , 

I think it would be much better if you all came a 
week later as regards the pictures, since things are peculiarly 
in a muddle just now. Do put it off for a week or fortnight, 
and then come and see something finished. 

Pray give my love to Mamma, Maria, and Christina. I 
am quite enraged at myself for not having written, and shall 
still immediately to Mamma. But I have not to any one, 
though this is no excuse whatever. 

A 19. 

Lady Bath's offer of " the loan of my picture " must have been an 
offer to re-consign to Rossetti the picture of The Girlhood of Mary 
Virgin, with a view to its being reconsidered (at his own suggestion) 
and in some particulars improved. It did ultimately reach him ; 
and 1 think he did next to nothing to it, save perhaps to the head 
of the child-angel. 

The pen-and-ink drawing I consider to be The Magdalene at the 
door of Simon the Pharisee. The oil-picture of this composition, 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 8 59- 149 

though well begun on a large canvas, was never finished. As to 
the Llandaff picture, see A 23. 

Miss Baring was a sister (or possibly niece) of Lady Bath. The 
" Hogarth Club ticket " was a ticket of admission to a small collec- 
tion of paintings, some of them by my brother, at the premises 
of the then Hogarth Club. 

[14 Chatham Place.] 

Thursday [1859.] 

My dear Aunt, 

I am sorry to have left you so long unanswered. Pray 
pardon, but I have been very busy and much interrupted. 

I do not think I will avail myself, after all, of Lady Bath's 
kindness just yet, as regards the loan of my picture ; but 
will do so as soon as I feel sure of being able to work on it 
at once, as I would not like to be keeping it for ever. 

The pen-and-ink drawing may be, I fear, higher in price 
than you expected. Its price would be £^0 ; in explanation 
of which I may say that it will contain, when finished, fully 
as much work as, if not more than, a water-colour of the 
same size, for which I should ask considerably more (as for 
the one of Mary and St. John which you saw, a good deal 
smaller, for which Lady Trevelyan paid me loo guineas). 
Moreover, it is the first design for a work of some importance, 
and therefore more valuable. 

Should Lady Bath wish to have it, I may add (since you 
say it was her first intention) that an immediate sale would 
be most convenient to me, as I am sure to have several 
applications for it, I trust and believe, before the Spring, 
when you tell me Lady Bath will be in London. I should 
however have to keep it by me for a time after it was sold, 
both to finish it, and to make use of it in carrying out my 
picture. In case of Lady Bath's still entertaining the idea 
of buying it, and wishing to see it first, I would be happy 
to send it to her to look at, if she did not object to paying 
the expense of packing and carriage ; but I fear I could 
not spare it just now for more than a day. 

You ask me whether I sketch my pen-and-ink drawings 


first in pencil. I always do so, as far as indicating the 
composition goes, but little more. 

I am at work now both on my pictures for Llandafif 
Cathedral (which I think you saw begun) and on the Mary 
Magdalene. I feel quite emancipated in getting to work 
of so large a size. I trust to have something considerable 
done to show you when you are next in London. 

I shall have much pleasure in Lady Bath's and Miss 
Baring's proposed visit. I have been hunting for a Hogarth 
Club ticket, but find I have none, and fear they are being 
re-printed just now ; so that I may not be able to send you 
one for a few days, but will be sure to do so. 

A 20. 

The drawing which Miss Baring contemplated buying must have 
been The Magdaletie mentioned in the previous letter ; my Aunt 
has noted in the present letter that Miss Baring had decided to 
purchase it without any further inspection. Halliday was Mr. 
Michael Halliday, a semi-professional painter, much influenced by 
Mr. Holman Hunt. The sketch (or picture) mentioned in this 
letter was named The Blind Basket-maker's First Child: I think it 
was engraved, and became more than moderately popular. 

[14 Chatham Place. 

My DEAR Aunt, 

Do I understand you rightly that Miss Baring wishes 
me to consider the drawing as hers now ? If so, I will send 
it her as soon as finished, but should have to borrow it for a 
short time further, to be photographed. My question is put 
because it is quite contrary to my practice to send a work 
of mine to be seen by any one before purchase ; though I 
was happy to break through this rule, for the first time, the 
other day, on account oi your connexion with the matter. 

1 understand, from certain members who have been looking 
up fresh rooms for the Hogarth Club, that they will not 
improbably take some they have seen in Waterloo Place, 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 859- 151 

and which appear to be more commodious, though also 
dearer, than those in Piccadilly. 

You ask me about Halliday's sketch. I think that, like all 
he has done, it is very satisfactory, considering that it is only 
a few years ago that he began painting figures, and that at 
a later time of life than most men begin at. The subject 
is a good one of its class ; but I do not sufficiently recollect 
the head of the mother to be sure whether I agree with your 
criticism. The artist might plead, however, that grief for 
the father's want of sight at that moment might predominate 
at least as justly as joy at the child's birth. 

A 21. 

I do not know who were the ^'■proteges " referred to in this letter ; 
perhaps some village children near Muntham. The directions given 
by my brother are in general conformity with the teaching of Mr, 
Ruskin at the Working Men's College. 

[14 Chatham Place.] 

Thursday [f February 1859]. 

My dear Aunt, 

I am very sorry that I have really nothing by me that 
I could send which would be of the least use to such beginners 
as yoViX proteges. What they ought to do in reality would be 
to take a piece of mossy bark, or something that would not 
decay, and try to imitate it on its own scale as exactly as 
possible — at first in pencil or Indian ink, and afterwards in 
colour. This would be a work of time, and perhaps requires 
in the first instance that some one should be by to rouse 
the beginner to a full consciousness of how close a fidelity he 
ought to aim at, and to be able, by mere industry, to attain. 
But, if they liked to make any such attempt, and you would 
forward me the result, I would gladly give what advice I 
could from a distance. The best gift you could make them 
would be of a plaster cast or two of natural leaves, and the 
materials necessary for drawing them, which could all be got 
cheaply enough. I will get you these if you like, and send 
them. If you and they still wish for a figure-piece of some 


sort, the most advisable would be one of the large French 
studies of heads. 

By the bye, all these ages I have a photograph, inscribed 
with your name, of that Mary Magdalene. 

The Hogarth will not be open after the end of March. . 

C 36. 

This note refers to some black-ballings at the Hogarth Club, of 
which I was a member, as well as my brother. 

14 Chatham Place, Blackfriars. 
[4 Al)ril 1859.] 

Dear William, 

I certainly did not black-ball . In each case after 

these ballots I have the same thing told me — viz., that the 
exclusions are owing to me — and have serious thoughts of 
resigning in consequence, as it is very annoying and very 

The ballot in this way becomes a mere farce. Those I 
voted against I really objected to, and it is childish in such 
a case to say anything more about the matter. I should like 
you to show this note to any one who has expressed to you 
the opinions you mention. 

C 37- 
Sadden, here named, is Mr. John P. Seddon, the architect con- 
cerned in the restoration of Llandaff Cathedral, brother of the late 
Thomas Seddon. The head that my brother had now been painting 
for his old and constant friend Mr. G. P. Boyce, the water-colour 
painter, must have been the one named Bocca Baciata. 

[14 Chatham Place. 

13 Novejjibe?- 1859.] 

My dear William. 


I am afraid the going to Scott's is impracticable for 
me, much as I should like it, with the amount of work I ought 
to be doing. I should not feel comfortable. As you said 
you were e?i cas to pay my journey, would you mind sparing 
me a few pounds for home use instead ? I am setting to 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 86o. I 5 3 

work on the Llandaff centrepiece, and am expecting ^^50 
from Seddon in about a week or ten days, but till then am 
run quite dry, and do not know how to get on. If you can 
do this, I would come either to Somerset House or Albany 
Street for it before you leave. 

Leathart of Newcastle has written me this morning, settling 
a commission which he has now given me for the Found, at 
350 guineas ; so my business motive for going is done away 
with. You know he also has my Christmas Carol and Sir 

Your affectionate Brother, 

D. G. R. 

If you could come here yourself, I would show you the 
head I have painted for Boyce. 

B. 22. 

12 East Parade, Hastings. 

Friday [13 April i860]. 

My dear Mother, 

I write you this word to say that Lizzy and I are 
going to be married at last, in as few days as possible. I 
may be in town again first, but am not certain. If so, I shall 
be sure to see you ; but write this as I should be sorry that 
the news should reach you first from any other quarter. 

Like all the important things I ever meant to do — to fulfil 
duty or secure happiness — this one has been deferred almost 
beyond possibility. I have hardly deserved that Lizzy should 
still consent to it, but she has done so, and I trust I may still 
have time to prove my thankfulness to her. The constantly 
failing state of her health is a terrible anxiety indeed ; but 
I must still hope for the best, and am at any rate at this 
moment in a better position to take the step, as regards 
money prospects, than I have ever been before. I shall either 
see you or write again soon, and meanwhile and ever am 

Your most affectionate Son, 



C. 38. 

12 East Parade, Hastings. 

Tuesday [17 April i860]. 

My dear William, 

Many sincere thanks for your brotherly letter. I 
assure you I never felt more in need of such affection as 
yours has always been than I do now. You will be grieved 
to hear that poor dear Lizzy's health has been in such a 
broken and failing state for the last few days as to render 
me more miserable than I can possibly say. The spectacle 
of her fits of illness when they come on would be heartrending 
to a stranger even. 

There seems to-day to be a slight rally ; but till yesterday 
she had not been able to keep anything — even a glass of 
soda-water — on her stomach for five minutes, and this has 
been the case more or less for a long while. She gets no 
nourishment, and what can be reasonably hoped when this 
is added to her dreadful state of health in other respects ? 
If I were to lose her now, I do not know what effect it might 
have on my mind, added to the responsibility of much work, 
commissioned and already paid for, which still has to be 
done, — and how to do it in such a case ? I am sorry to 
write you such a miserable letter, but really it does me some 
good to have one person to whom I can write it, as I could 
not bear doing to any other than you. 

I must still hope for the best ; indeed, she has been as 
bad before in many respects, but hardly all at once as now. 
Yesterday, owing no doubt to the improvement in the weather, 
she has taken some slight things — such as beef-tea and jelly 
— without as yet bringing them up again. I have been 
enquiring as to a special license, as there seems little prospect 
of her being able as yet to enter the cold church with safety ; 
but I find this promises so much delay and expense as to be 
hardly possible. The ordinary license we already have, and 
I still trust to God we may be enabled to use it. If not, I 
should have so much to grieve for, and (what is worse) so 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 860. I 5 5 

much to reproach myself with, that I do not know how it 
might end for me. 

I shall have to be in London for a few hours to-day, but 
really have not the heart to see you just now, though it is 
some relief to write this. I have to come up to fetch money 
(which I left at home, expecting to have fetched her back, 
when I came here), of which at least, thank Heaven, I am 
not short at present, though I only have it as an advance 
on work to do. I shall come back the first thing to-morrow 
morning at latest. You need not talk much about the state 
of her health, as it is so wretched a subject, at such a moment 
especially, but I thought I would tell you. 

C. 23. 

Wednesday [23 May i860]. 

My dear Mother, 

Lizzie and I are just back from church. We are 
going to Folkestone to-day, hoping to get on to Paris if 
possible ; but you will be grieved to hear her health is no 
better as yet. Love to all. 

C 39. 

My brother and his wife did not become tenants of the chateau 
near Boulogne here spoken of; nor did they give up the Chambers 
in London, 14 Chatham Place, Blackfriars Bridge, which he had 
rented for some years. 

"Top" was a nickname applied to Mr. Morris. Gillum (Colonel 
Gillum) is a gentleman whom my brother had seen a good deal of 
late, and who purchased some of his drawings. 

128 Rue de Rivoli, Paris. 

Saturday [9 f/iiie i860]. 

My dear William, 

On the last page hereof is a paragraph which I wish 
you would get put in the Times. Some one told me our 
marriage had appeared there ; but it must be a mistake, no 
doubt, unless you have put it in. If the governor's birth- 


place is wrong at all, please alter. Would you also send 
Crouch, 19 Clarence Gardens, whom Mamma knows, with the 
enclosed order, to get it cashed ? . . . 

On our way here we stayed several days at Boulogne, 
and saw a great deal of the Maenzas, who quite fascinated 
my wife — i.e., Mr, Maenza chiefly. He is far from well, 
poor old fellow — indeed, has been very ill — but greatly 
excited of course about the Garibaldi business. After seven 
years they have at last had accidental news of their son in 
Australia, who at any rate seemed in good health then, and 
not starving, but no doubt he is leading a vagabond sort of 
life. Near Boulogne we saw a very ancient chateau, with 
a wonderful garden and lots of paintable things. It might 
be rented cheap, I believe, and I have some thoughts of 
taking it for the summer months, in case at the end of that 
time we found it advisable (if possible) to push further south. 
One might paint some very paying backgrounds for small 
pictures, and it is lovely beyond all description. My wife 
has been in very fluctuating health, and still is so, but on 
the whole has had fewer violent fits of illness since I saw you 
than before. Still I need not say what an anxious and 
disturbed life mine is while she remains in this state. And 
this is increased by the absolute necessity of setting soon to 
work again, while in fact her health at times demands my 
constant care. 

I shall be giving up my rooms in London, whether I settle 
there or at Boulogne for the present ; and even in the latter 
case shall have to come to London to settle things and fetch 
my work. So no doubt I shall see you before long, what- 
ever happens. We do not propose to stay here much more 
than a week longer, and were expecting Jones and his wife 
as soon as they are married ; but it seems he has been very 
ill lately, poor fellow, and on the whole I am not sure it may 
not prove wiser for him to stay at home. So we are not sure 
of having them now. 

We have been staying a week at the Hotel Meurice, which 
is very dear, and have only lately got into these rather 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1860. I 5/ 

cheaper lodgings. I have not got about quite so much as I 
should, were Lizzy better ; but have had several good looks 
at the great Paul Veronese, the greatest picture in the world 
beyond a doubt. 

I hope Brown is better than when I last heard of him. 
Will you give him my news if you see him, and say how glad 
I should be to hear from him, if he will pardon my not 
having written yet except once since our marriage? My 
best address would be — 

Chez Mme. Houston 

(as above) : 

the said Mme. is English and very obliging. 

I hope they will not charge you extra postage for this, 
but I have not had the energy yet to buy foreign paper. 
Give my love to all at home. My wife joins in kind remem- 
brances. Love to Top, Gillum, Woolner, and all friends. 

Your affectionate Brother, 


Ruskin is off, I suppose — I wrote to him. 

On the 23rd. ult. at St. Clement's Church, Hastings, by 
the Rev. T. Nightingale, Dante Gabriel, eldest son of the 
late Gabriel Rossetti, of Vasto degli Abruzzi, Kingdom of 
Naples, to Elizabeth Eleanor, daughter of the late Charles 
Siddal, of Sheffield. 

C 40. 

The picture which is here spoken of as " going on " appears to 
be the one entitled Found. 


Tuesday [19 Jnne i860]. 

Dear William, 

We shall most likely leave here on Thursday, but I 
cannot say precisely on what day we shall reach London. 
Thanks for your letter. I think we shall bring two dogs — 
a big one and a little one. Lizzy continues rather better on 


the whole. Paris certainly agrees with her, as it always does 
and I only trust she will not get worse again in London. 
I shall try to see Dr. Crellin about her. 

We have given up the Boulogne scheme, I believe. You 
know of course that Jones has been very ill, but I trust from 
what you say he is better. 

My love to Scott. . . . The picture is going on, and will 
soon make great advances. . . . 

C 41. 

The strong term " the Union fools " is applied to the Committee 
or other authorities of the Union Debating Club in Oxford. Some 
steps were taken for completing anyhow the pictures there left 
unfinished by my brother and his colleagues. 

[14 Chatham Place. 
18 August i860.] 

Dear William, 

I am much annoyed at my stupid forgetfulness in not 
having tried before to get you here one evening. In fact, 
the few who have been have been asked through my meeting 
them accidentally, and somehow I have not turned you up 
lately. Pray pardon. 1 will write fixing a day next week, 
I trust, if you are able to come. Just now I am so busy 
morning and evening with work I am doing here that I had 
better put it off a few days. 

Thanks about Maenza. I have no doubt we mean the 
same thing, and can do nothing till I see you, as I want to 
concoct a circular with your help. . . . 

I am not on good terms with the Union fools, and had 
rather no one were sent in our name. 

B 24. 

[Spring Cottage, Downshire Hill, Hampstead. 


Dear Mamma, 

I had Dr. Crellin to see Lizzie yesterday, as she was 
very ill ; but, while I was gone for him, another doctor had 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 86o. I 59 

been sent for ; who being near at hand, and she I trust 
improving, I shall continue to see him at present. I did not 
give Dr. C[rellin] his fee yesterday, having only notes in the 
house. ... I believe you have by you a second ;;^20 of mine, 
as I asked William to send Croucher for it. If so, would you 
kindly send Croucher with whatever sum is right enclosed to 
Dr. C[rellin] ? . . . Do not send less than two guineas. 

A 22. 

Lady Bath, I am satisfied, did not buy The Blue Closet. My 
brother failed in his endeavours to get a house (other than lodgings) 
at Hampstead. 

Thursday [i860]. 

My dear Aunt, 

You are to use your discretion about the subject of 
this note. 

I am under the impression that you told me once that 
Lady Bath was desirous of possessing a water-colour drawing 
of mine which was at that little exhibition in Russell Place 
some years ago. The drawing was not then for sale, but has 
lately become my property again through an exchange. Its 
subject is some people playing music, and it is called The 
Blue Closet. 

If you think there is any probability of Lady Bath being 
still in the same mind, you might mention the matter to her, 
but not if yoit feel the slightest awkwardness in renewing the 
subject. It occurred to me as possible she might still wish to 
have it ; and, as (like others) I find married life increases 
one's expenses, I thought I would not leave this stone 
unturned. But you will judge best about it. I may mention 
that the price is 50 guineas, 

I left at last at Albany Street that photograph which has 
long lain here inscribed to you. 

I wish I could give you the best news of my wife, but 
I must hope for the best, and meanwhile be content if it goes 


a little better with her, as I think it does just now. She has 
been at the seaside, but returns to-night, I trust. 

I am doing so many things in the way of work, and am in 
such a perpetual moil about them, that I really do not know 
which to tell you of ; but some day you will come and see 

I have been trying to get a house at Hampstead, but find 
there is nothing so difficult as to get suited in this respect ; 
so have not yet got rid of these rooms, which, with the 
lodging we have at Hampstead (necessary to my wife's 
health), comes expensive, you may be sure. 

Believe me ever 

Your affectionate Nephew, 


B 25. 

Thursday evening 
[i November i860]. 

My dear Mother, 

Lizzie is so unsettled just now by constant moving 
about that I think we had better put off the plan of her 
coming to Albany Street, though I am most anxious it 
should be so. We have only just got out of that lodging at 
Hampstead, and so cut off an expense ; taking instead for the 
winter the second floor in the next house to this, additionally 
to this one. We take it unfurnished, and must manage to 
fill it somehow. I hope then, if not before, we may manage 
to have your company in our new rooms. Nothing would 
give me greater pleasure, as nothing pains me more than the 
idea of our being in any way divided — which would indeed be 
a bad return for all I owe to my dear good Mother. But I 
trust you feel sure how much I suffer from this idea, and how 
wholly I hope to see it set right. My only reason for not 
giving Lizzie your letter just now is the one I have named ; 
and, if I see her stronger and more settled to-morrow or next 
day, I shall still give it her. Love to all. 

I^-Amily-letteks — 1 86 1. l6i 

C 42. 

[14 Chatham Plack. 

18 faiuiary 1861.] 

Dear William, 

I am pushing on at last with my Italian Poets at the 
printer's. Could you help me at all, do you think, in collating 
my Vita Nuova with the original, and amending inaccuracies, 
of which I am sure there are some ? I have so much to do 
that I am tempted to bore you with it if you can and will. 
If you will answer yes, I will send it you by book-post. It 
ought to be done immediately. 

Will you tell me how Mamma is ? Lizzy is so-so. 

Your affectionate 


I asked Ruskin whether he would say a good word for 
something of Christina's to the CornJiill, and he promised 
to do so if she liked. If so, would she send me by book- 
post the book containing the Poem about the two Girls and 
the Goblins ? 

C 43- 
Saffi, here mentioned, was Aurelio Saffi, one of the noblest of 
men, who had been a Triumvir of Rome in 1849, along with 
Mazzini and Armellini : for some while he held in Oxford Univer- 
sity a chair for instruction in Italian. The prose " Tale " by my 
sister must be the Folio Q referred to later on. 

[14 Chatham Place. 

19 January 1861.] 

Dear William, 

Many thanks. What I want is that you should 
correct my translation throughout, removing inaccuracies 
and mannerisms. And, if you have time, it would be a great 
service to translate the analyses of the poems (which I 
omitted). This, however, if you think it desirable to include 
them. I did not at the time (on ground of readableness), but 
since think they may be desirable, only have become so 



unfamiliar with the book that I have no distinct opinion, 
I enclose in the MS. some notes by Saffi, which may prove 

I mentioned to Ruskin Christina's Goblins, as one having a 
subject. But we must see. But has she not a tale too ? If so, 
would she send it me ? Will you tell her we are very thank- 
ful for her paper-box, which is very useful ? 

I want to get my own poems out at the same time as the 
translations, but am not sure yet. 

Love to Mamma and all. I am glad indeed to hear she 
is getting over her illness. 

F 4. 
This letter opens by referring to the (now celebrated) verses by 
Christina named Up-hill : they were first published in Macmillans 
Magazi?ie in i860. Whether the " lively little Song of the Tomb " 
is the same thing or not I cannot now say. Professor Masson, the 
Queen's Historiographer for Scotland, was then the Editor of that 
Magazine, and was well known and deservedly esteemed by us all. 
" The poem Ruskin has " was, I apprehend. Goblin Market ; it did 
not go into the Cornhill Magazine. Folio Q must have been a prose 
story which our sister wrote somewhere about the time here in 
question. It dealt with some supernatural matter — I think, a man 
whose doom it was not to get reflected in a looking-glass (a sort of 
alternative form, so far, of Feter Schletnihl). I preserve a faint but 
very favourable recollection of it, as perhaps the best tale Christina 
ever wrote in prose ; but unfortunately it turned out to raise — or to 
seem as if it were meant to raise — some dangerous moral question ; 
and, on having her attention directed to this, my sister, who had 
been all unconscious of any such matter, destroyed the MS. on the 
spot. A pity now. 

My " Preface to Dante " was the preface to a translation of the 
Inferno, which got published eventually, but only in 1865. 

[Jan nary 1861.] 

Dear Christina, 

I saw Macmillan last night, who has been congratu- 
lated by some of his contributors on having got a poet at 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 86 1. 1 63 

last in your person, and read aloud your lively little Song 
of the Tomb with great satisfaction. He is anxious to see 
something else of yours, and is a man able to judge for 
himself ; so I think you might probably do at least as well 
with him as with Masson. I told him of the poem Ruskin 
has, and he would like to see it if it does not go into Corn/nil. 
He would also specially like to see Folio Q ; can you get it 
or make another copy ? or have you got anything else avail- 
able ? He asked whether you had much ready in MS., and 
I told him there was a good deal of poetry. I wish you 
would make a collected copy in printing-form of all the most 
available, and allow me to give an opinion beforehand as 
to which should be included. I believe they would have 
a chance with Macmillan, or might with others, if they existed 
in an available form. I would come down one evening for 
the purpose ; or rather, if you would send me the books as 
soon as you could, I would read them through, and consult 
with you afterwards. It seems to me that the only plan — 
so large a section of your poems being devotional — would be 
to divide the volume into two distinct sections. What do 
you think ? 

The Vita Nuova will not be long now. 

Your affectionate Brother, 


I want very much to hear William's Preface to Dante. 
Would he be able to take tea here any evening, and read 
it me ? 

F 5- 

"Thanks about the 'ye.' " It may be inferred that Christina, on 
reading the MS. of the translated Vita Nii-ova, or other translation, 
had pointed out to Gabriel that he sometimes used the nominative 
case 'ye' where it ought to be the objective 'you.' Stokes is Mr. 
Whitley Stokes, the pre-eminent Celtic scholar, then a young legal 


Monday \_ January 1861J. 

Dear Christina, 

Many and many thanks for your fair copy just received 
— which is so fair it almost seems a pity to print it. 

Thanks about the "y^." t)Ut I'm afraid I don't think it 
matters much. I've not yet looked into W[illiam]'s notes, 
but see they'll be useful. 

Last night I read some of your poems to Stokes — a very 
good judge and conversant with publishers — who thought 
them so unusually excellent that there could be little doubt 
ever of their finding a publisher, not to speak of a public. 
Really they must come out somehow, I should have come 
to Albany Street last night, had not Stokes come in, but shall 
probably do so to-morrow evening. Every one seems to have 
been struck (on own hooks) by Up-hill. The best of all 
your things, I think, is " When I was dead my spirit turned." 
Might it not be called At Home ? I shall give it at once 
to Macmillan. 

C 44. 

Not having any direct authority for publishing the letter from Mr. 
Ruskin here referred to, I omit it ; but I may say in general terms 
that it objected to the execution of my sister's poems, on the ground 
of licenses (real or supposed) in versification. 

14 Chatham Place. 

[25 January 1861.] 

Dear William, 

Many and many thanks for a most essential service 
most thoroughly performed. I have not yet verified the 
whole of the notes, but I see they are just what I needed, 
and will save me a vast amount of trouble. I should very 
much wish that the translation were more literal, but cannot 
do it all again. 

My notes, which you have taken the trouble of revising, 
are of course quite paltry and useless. What I think I shall 
do is to write a sort of essay, as short as I can make it, in 
front of the second part of my book (called Dante and his 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 86 1. 165 

Circle), embodying what little has to be said about Dante 
and Guido Cavalcanti, and indeed various poems of The 

Will you thank Mamma very much for her help ? 

It is with very great regret and disgust that 1 enclose a 
note from Ruskin about Christina's poems — most senseless, 
I think, I have told him something of the sort in my 
answer. He has not yet returned the volume I sent him 
(with the Goblins), but I suppose will soon. I have some 
idea (with Christina's approval) of sending the Goblins to 
Mrs. Gaskell, who is good-natured and appreciative, and 
might get it into the CornJiill or elsewhere. Would she like 
this done? Or perhaps Allingham might help. 

With love to all, 

Your affectionate Brother, 


B 26. 

Thursday [2 Alay 1861]. 

My dear Mother, 

Lizzie has just been delivered of a dead child. She 
is doing pretty well, I trust. 

Do not encourage any one to come just now — I mean, of 
course, except yourselves. 

B 27. 

"Christina's book," for which my brother had designed the bind- 
ing, was her first published volume, Goblin Market and other Poems. 
The frontispiece was cut on the wood by Mr. Morris, being his 
first essay in that line, or nearly so, and certainly a most spirited if 
not conventionally nitid piece of execution. 

[14 Chatham Place. 
(?) 1861.] 

My dear Mamma, 

We have got some stuff which we want to make up 
for hangings for our sitting-room, and want sorne one who 


would come here and make it up on the spot under Lizzie's 
direction. Do you know any one — competent and not ninety 
years of age? If so, would you kindly send such able and 
not aged person ? 

I have designed a binding for Christina's book. I think 
both woodcuts are sure to be done engraving before the end 
of this month. 

C 45- 
The principal picture which Mr. Flint had contracted for may 
probably have been The Magdalene at the door of Simo7i the Pharisee. 
Mr. Leathart, who had now undertaken to buy Fojmd, was an owner 
of lead-works settled at Gateshead-on-Tyne. He formed an excel- 
lent collection of pictures, several of them by my brother and his 
associates. My brother entertained, and had every reason for 
entertaining, a cordial esteem of Mr. Leathart, and valued his 
discernment in questions of art, more especially his true sense of 
colour. (I regret to use the word " was " of this most honourable 
and friendly gentleman : he died on 9 August 1895, just as these 
pages were passing through the press.) 

14 Chatham Place. 
[16 August 1861.] 

My dear William, 

I think from the tone of your note that Gambart, in 
addition to his statement (which may be all or only half or 
less true), must have abused me so much as to have left you 
with the impression that I was acting wilfully wrong. This 
is not so in any degree. I am really quite as anxious to do 
justice to the relatives of so excellent a man as Flint as I am 
to get myself out of the most difficult fix I was ever in. The 
unfortunate thing is that, owing chiefly to Flint's habit of 
pressing money on one for work in progress (of which I 
naturally availed myself, being always hard up), I am in debt 
to the estate for three pictures to the amount of 680 guineas. 
These three pictures are in hand, but, especially the principal 
one, little advanced. The other two, though needing a good 
deal, would be soon finished, 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 86 1. 1 6/ 

You see, things being thus, it is impossible for me to 
combine justice to the estate {i.e., to the value of the pictures) 
with hurry in their completion ; and, besides, must do other 
work to live by while I paint them. Unhappily, I am even 
prevented from setting to work at once on the pictures (in 
which case I might probably get them done somehow by 
April), but am under promise to finish Leathart's Found at 
once, and do other things, besides the Llandaff picture, on 
which I am now hard at work, and which has to be sent off 
in two or three weeks at furthest. 

With Gambart I will have nothing further to do (indeed 
I may say nothing simply, as I have shut him out hitherto) — 
that is, if I can help it, his letters being very offensive, and 
attempting intimidation with talk of law, etc. Since answer- 
ing his last, I have written direct to the trustees, making a 
proposal that I .should give them other finished works to the 
amount of the money paid, which I could do before April, I 
doubt not. 

They seem to think this feasible (and in no case to 
contemplate law), but are going to refer the proposal to 
Gambart, so I do not know what it may come to. 

I have been suggesting to them to transact through Ruskin 
on my behalf; but now it seems unfortunately that it was 
Ruskin who advised them originally to employ a dealer, and 
they went to Gambart. 

Ruskin, who has been away, is just back, and I shall see 
him to-day, so perhaps some suggestion may turn up. 

In any case, I should be quite as unhappy at adding to the 
difficulties of Mrs. PHnt as at any misfortune to myself 
personally, and you may be sure I am altogether in a 
most anxious state. But Gambart cannot be stood at 
any price. 


D. G. R. 

I hope Christina got her poems safe. 


C 46- 

14 Chatham Place. 
[20 August 1861.] 

Dear William, 

I think the letter is calculated to rile Gambart a little, 
if not to do him good, which it also may ; so would be 
obliged to you to send it ; but would you mind re-writing it 
for the sake of a slight alteration I have made ? as it is well 
not to seem decidedly to put everything else I am doing 
before these pictures. 

* * * * * * 

B 28. 

The portrait here mentioned is a half-length lifesized oil-portrait 
of our Father which my brother painted in 1848 — his first picture 
after the Girlhood of Mary Virgin. It was painted for his god- 
father Mr. Charles Lyell ; and had now been borrowed from his 
son Sir Charles Lyell, with a view to its being used to illustrate a 
volume of selections from our Father's poems which I had put 
together with some pains, and which an Italian publisher, Rossi, 
had undertaken to publish. Rossi, whether from deficient means 
or whatever other cause, never fulfilled his engagement; and con- 
sequently no use was made of the portrait by way of engraving. 
My brother's suggestion that I should attempt to make the engraving 
on wood was hardly of a practical sort, as I had (and have) never 
made any experiment in that line. Not each of us is a William 

[14 Chatham Place.] 
Tuesday [? 1861]. 

Dear Mamma, 

The portrait came last night. It is a funny piece of 
painting, but no doubt considerably though not perfectly 
like. The question is now what to do with it. I would 
willingly make a drawing — perhaps on wood would be best — 
and get it cut here and sent over. The cutting might be 
some slight expense to Rossi, though I am not sure whether 
1 could not get it done for nothing. 

Would you take the trouble of writing to him, asking the 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 86 1. 1 69 

shape of the edition and when it will be out, and telling him 
what I say about the portrait ? You need not hold out the 
chance of gratis engraving, but say it could be engraved at a 
trifling expense here. By the bye, if William liked he might 
essay wood-engraving on it, as it would be very simple. 

B 29. 

My brother had gone to the house of Mr. J. Aldam Heaton in 

Yorkshire, to paint a portrait of Mrs. Heaton (this family is not 

related to the Miss Heaton of Leeds whose name occurs elsewhere 

in my pages). The portrait is one out of two or three heads by 

Rosselti, bearing the title Regina Cordiwii — no undue tribute to 

Mrs. Heaton. 

WooDBANK [ Mr. J. A. Heaton's, near Bingley, Yorks]. 

31 October [1861]. 

My dear Mamma, 

I am out here painting a portrait, and left Lizzie 
staying with the Morrises. Now she writes me that she has 
left them in a hurry, making me very uneasy, as I know 
there was not a halfpenny of money at Chatham Place. If 
at all possible, would you go there, and take her some few 
pounds, which I shall be able to repay you on my return 
immediately, and will punctually do so? It was impossible 
to bring her here with me, both from her very delicate state 
and from the very reason that what money we had hardly 
sufficed for my own journey. On my return I shall have 
earned 50 guineas, and shall certainly be back in a week 
from to-day. If not convenient to call, you might send the 
tin by post. I would not trouble you, but know William 
is away. At present, of course, it makes me very uneasy. 


Mr. Linton (who had been mentioned in an earlier letter) is 

Mr. W. J. Linton, the wood-engraver. An offer had been made to 

the National Portrait Gallery of a portrait of David Scott, painted 

by himself. The portrait of Wright of Derby, a painter of last 


century, was one which I myself had erewhile presented to the 

same gallery. I did not write the proposed letter to the Athenceum 

— being dissuaded by Mr. W. B. Scott — though I quite sympathized 

in my brother's feeling on the subject. 

[14 Chatham Place.] 
Tuesday [4 February 1862]. 

My dear William, 

I meant to have said before, and have just been incited 
by Linton to say, that I think really you, as a man whose 
name is known in that way, ought to write a letter to the 
Athenceum on the shameful rejection of David Scott's portrait 
by the National Portrait Gallery. 

He says he has no doubt they would print it, and you 
might surely instance as a strong comparative case the 
acceptance of Wright of Derby. 


D. G. R. 

Linton wants to meet you. Could you appoint to come 
here one evening? and I'd ask just one or two men besides. 


My brother (having after his wife's death left Chatham Place for 

Lincoln's Inn Fields) was now projecting a further move to Cheyne 

Walk, and furnishing-requisites became a topic for consideration. 

Our Mother offered him the spacious and well-looking bedstead 

which had witnessed the birth of all us four. He eventually 

accepted it, and constantly used it until he left Cheyne Walk to 

die at Birchington. After his death it ought to have been retained 

in the family ; but (owing to a muddle, for which I was not exactly 

responsible, at the sale of his effects) it passed out of my ken. 

Mr. J. Anderson Rose was the solicitor who saw to my brother's 

interest as to the lease for the Cheyne Walk house. 

59 Lincoln's Inn Fields. 

Wednesday [1862]. 

Dear Mamma, 

* * * # * * 

Many thanks also about the bedstead. I shall cer- 
tainly have no absolute necessity for it ; nevertheless should 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 862. 171 

be glad to have it, of course, if you do not prefer selling 
it. . . . It is by no means improbable that the one you 
offer me might prove of great use sooner or later, and it is 
interesting as a family recollection. ... 

I believe we shall be able to conclude the business about 
the house to-morrow, as Rose has managed to secure our 
safety in the matter. 

With this scrap of a note Gabriel sent to his sister transcripts of 
two passages from reviews of her poems — from The British Quarte?-ly 
and The National Revieiv. The former contained the "puff" of 
Gabriel, i.e., of his designs to the volume. I will quote one of its 
sentences about the poems : " All of these are marked by beauty 
and tenderness : they are frequently quaint, and sometimes a little 
capricious." Condensed as it is, this verdict has stood the test of 

Simpson's Divan. 

[////)' 1862]. 

Dear Chrlstina, 

Here are the two notices. I forgot that one puffs 
mc too ; so, if you want to show them to any one, I would 
be obliged if you would copy them, and not show them in 
my writing. 

C 48. 
" I have written to Meredith about his share." This relates to 
the fact that, when first my brother settled at 16 Cheyne Walk, 
Mr, George Meredith the novelist, and also Mr. Swinburne and 
myself, occupied certain rooms in the house as sub-tenants. This 
letter was written from Newcastle-on-Tyne, where my brother was 
painting a portrait of Mrs. I^eathart. 

Tiiesdav morning [30 December 1862]. 

Dear William, 

I have just got yours from Somerset House, which 
shows me that you are well again after the attack of cold of 


which I heard. This is well. As to the rent business etc. 
I never meant to have reckoned on you for any expenses at 
present in your own person, as I think you have done more 
than enough . . . but certainly whatever you can do without 
inconvenience to yourself will be very opportune as regards 
me, I being naturally even more pressed than usual this 


I have written to Meredith about his share, and am likely, 
I find, to see him at Chelsea on my return. I trust I shall be 
able to suffice to all by end of January, having that month 
clear before me ; but meanwhile the rent is a heavy item, and 
endless debts besides which ought to be paid, and a few which 

You will know when I leave (it will be to-morrow at 1.30 
I suppose) by receiving an insurance-ticket from the railway, 
as I suppose you did when I came. 

B 31. 

Baker, here named, was, along with his wife, my brother's servant. 
They came from the Muntham neighbourhood, and went back 
thither : see A 23. " My Helen " means a small oil-picture, Jle/eu 
of Troy. As the address, "16 Cheyne Walk, Chelsea," continued 
to be my brother's ordinary address up to the close of his life, I 
shall for the most part omit this henceforward, and only introduce it 
if it should be subject to some interruption, preceding or ensuing. 

[16 Cheyne Walk, Chelsea.] 
Friday night [1863]. 

Dear Mamma, 

Would you give Baker the photograph of Old Cairo 
which hangs in your parlour ; and, if there are any stereo- 
scopic pictures, either in the instrument or elsewhere, which 
represent general views of cities, would you send them too, or 
anything of a fleet of ships ? I want to use them in painting 
Troy at the back of my Helen, and will return them soon. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1864. 173 

c 49. 

Pope was my brother's servant. Chapman was George F. Chap- 
man, a painter of considerable ability, more especially in inventive 
composition. He was much with my brother about this time, 
sometimes staying in the house for awhile. He died towards 1880. 

Saturday [23 April 1864]. 

Dear W , 

I have seen the owner of the Zebu, and undertaken to 
buy him for iJ'20, — £^ payable on Monday, and the rest 
within a fortnight. I shall then have plenty, but just now 
have none. Could you pay your £^ as the first instalment ? 
If so, I will send Pope to you at Somerset House on Monday 
morning, and then on to him with the tin. If not^ however, 
please let me know by return of post in answer to this, as I 
must then raise it somehow. 

Pope has been in the beast's pen, and says he is quite tame. 
The owner says he would cost about 2s. 6d. a week for keep ; 
but, even if rather understated, it would most likely be no 
great expense. He would need a shed of some sort in winter, 
but none in summer. Trusting to hear that you can do 
the needful on Monday, 

I am ever your 


Chapman is coming up to-night (Saturday), if you like to 
come too. I have let the peacocks out in the garden. 

B 32. 

"My £>avid" is David as Shepherd, one of the wing-pictures in 
the Triptych for Llandaff Cathedral. 

14 Jime 1864. 

My dear Mamma, 

Pray do come Friday evening, or rather as early as 
you all can in the day, as I shall have no model. I should 
like you to sec my David, which will be going on Monday, 
I suppose. 

Thanks for proposed hour-glass. . . . 


A 23. 

My brother often thought of holding an exhibition of his collected 
pictures, but never did so. The picture of The Girlhood of Mary 
Virgin had been presented by Lady Bath to her daughter Lady 
Louisa Feilding. 

" I trust shortly to begin a very large work, on commission." 1 
am not sure which this was. The most probable appears to be The 
Boat of Love (from a sonnet by Dante) : of this my brother made an 
oil-monochrome (now in the Public Gallery at Birmingham), but 
never painted a complete picture. There was also Cassandra (pen- 
and-ink design), not painted. 

[25 June 1864.] 

My dear Aunt, 

I am glad you wrote to me, as there is a mixture now, 
much preferable to milk and water, for setting chalk or pencil 
drawings. It is a French invention, and can be procured (at 
IS. 6d. a bottle, I think) from Lechertier Barbe, Artists' 
Colourman, 60 Regent Street. The benefit of it is that it is 
passed over the back of the drawing, not the front, and 
penetrates the paper, 

I wish you had asked your various questions, as nothing 
would have given me greater pleasure than to answer as 
many as you pleased. In default of the questions, how^ever, I 
do not know what the answers should be, and the unvaried 
tenor of my working-life is not suggestive of spontaneous 
narrative. The other day I finished and sent off to Llandaff 
the picture of David as Shepherd, completing the Triptych 
which I have painted as the altarpiece of the Cathedral, and 
which altogether is entitled The Seed of David. It is intended 
to show Christ sprung from high and low in the person of 
David, who was both Shepherd and King, and worshipped 
by high and low — a King and a Shepherd — at his nativity. 
Accordingly in the centre-piece (which I forget whether you 
saw at all, but certainly not finished) an Angel is represented 
leading the Shepherd and King to worship in the stable at 
the feet of Christ, who is in his mother's arms. She holds 
his hand for the Shepherd, and his foot for the King, to 

FAMtLY-LETtERS— 1864. i^S 

kiss — so showing the superiority of poverty over riches in the 
eyes of Christ ; while the one lays his crook, the other his 
crown, at the Saviour's feet. There is an opening all round 
the stable, through which Angels are looking in, while other 
Angels are playing on musical instruments in a loft above. 
This is the centre-piece. 

The two side-pieces represent, on one side, David as 
Shepherd with the sling, walking forward and taking aim at 
Goliath, while the Israelite army watches the throw behind 
an entrenchment. The other side-piece is David as King 
playing on the harp. 

The three pictures are in a stone framework in;the Cathedral, 
which I fear, being white, must injure their effect much ; but 
before long I shall go down there, and give directions for 
such decoration of the framework as seems best. Some day 
I must get them lent me for exhibition in London, whenever 
I collect my works together for that purpose — as I mean to 
do at some date, I hope not very distant, but probably not 
for a year or two as yet. I have been thinking of some 
concise mottoes to inscribe on the stone-work round the 
pictures, and so suggest their purport, and have hit on the 
following : — 

(i) Christ sprang from David Shepherd, and even so 

(2) From David King, being born of high and low, 

(3) The Shepherd lays his crook, the King his crown, 

(4) Here at Christ's feet, and high and low bow down. 
Do you not think this will help the spectator ? 

By the bye, I believe I bothered you once before to enquire 
who ought to be written to relative to my old picture of TJie 
Girlhood of Mary Virgin, bought originally by Lady Bath, 
and which I understood once its present possessor (to whom 
I believe it was a gift from her) proposed varnishing or doing 
something to. This was told me by Hunt. I did not write 
to him at the time (though I fancy you kindly gave me some 
information), but have always meant to do so, and should like 
to do so still, in case the picture needs my revision in any 


I have quantities of commissions now, and never was nearly 
so prosperous before. I trust shortly to begin a very large 
work, on commission, and henceforward to do almost exclu- 
sively large works in oil. Small things and water-colours I 
never should have done at all, except for the long continuance 
of a necessity for " pot-boilers." 

I am very glad the Bakers are doing rather better. They 
are worthy souls, but odd. 

Will you present my regards to Lady Bath ? and believe 

Your most affectionate Nephew, 


C 50. 

The flowers which my brother was painting when he wrote this 
note were the foreground of roses in his Venus Verticordia. As to 
the " large commission," see the note to the preceding letter. The 
P.S. refers to a little pencil sketch, purposely jejune, of a palm-tree 
and a setting sun. 

Thursday [11 August 1864]. 

Dear W , 

Can you conveniently contribute ^lo to house expenses ? 
I, . . . being obliged to stick to painting these flowers, can- 
not knock off before then to earn the money otherwise. It 
would have been all right if I had got the remittance I 
expected on the large commission, and the promise of which 
has made me over-confident of meeting expenses in time. 
It does not come, and I cannot keep up the sickening job of 
writing to the people for ever. 

If you can manage ;^io, I dare say I can get the rest in 
time somehow. 


D. G. R. 

P.S. — I have been too busy to send Pope for the chameleons 
so will expect them when you come. The above is Ned 
Jones's cartoon of the Eastern style. 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1864. 177 


When this letter was written, our mother was (I think) at 
Hastings, along with our elder sister, and our cousin Henrietta 
Polydore, who was a consumptive invalid. 

16 Cheyne Walk. 
16 August 1864. 

My dearest Mother, 

I received your good old letter, and am very glad to 
hear of Henrietta's decided improvement. Will you give 
her my love, as well as to Maggie ? I hope the three of you 
will be even better at arrival of this than at departure of 
yours. As for me, I have no chance of getting away just 
now, as I am tied down to my canvas till all the flower part 
of it is finished. I have done many more roses, and have 
established an arrangement with a nursery-gardener at 
Cheshunt, whereby they reach me every two days at 2s. 6d. 
for a couple of dozen each time, which is better than paying 
a shilling apiece at Cov[ent] Garden. Also honeysuckles 
T have succeeded in getting at the Crystal Palace, and have 
painted a lot already in my foreground, and hope for more. 
All these achievements were made only with infinite labour 
on my part, and the loss of nearly a whole week in searching. 
But the picture gets on well now. 

The peahen has hatched two out of her four eggs, and now 
stalks about with two little whining queernesses at her heels — 
no bigger or brighter than ordinary chicks, but perhaps a 
little steadier on their pins. 

Chapman is at Malvern doing the cold-water business. 
He lodges at a house called the Berry, and is improving but 
slowly. ... 

The other day I sent Christina this month's Eraser, which 
contains a review of her in conjunction with Miss Ingelow, 
Mrs. Browning, and Miss Procter. The palm among living 
poetesses is given to Christina on the whole. But probably 
she will be sending it on to you. I do not know who is the 
writer, though I have some idea it may be a man of the 

VOL. IL 12 


name of Skelton whom I met on one occasion. The article 
is . . . intelligent in criticism. 

I have not yet seen William's chameleons, but shall, I 
believe, to-morrow, as he is coming here and proposes to 
bring them. I have been so busy that I have not been any- 
where except where my picture took me to look for flowers. 
I got three different parcels of honeysuckles from three 
different friends in three different parts of England, none of 
which were of any use, being broken and faded. Then I got 
some from a nursery at Waltham Cross which were not much 
good either, and lastly from the Crystal Palace. All with 
much delay and bother. So you see I have had a time of it. 

A friend of Mr. Mitchell, who is to have the Venus, called 
from Yorkshire to see it the other day, and was much 
delighted. I hope it may do me good when it gets there. 

Write again when you can, and I will give you such news 
as there is in return. The best news I can have is that you 
are all well. 

"I enquired at Delacroix" means "I enquired at the Gallery 
where an exhibition of Delacroix's works is now being held." I had 
not an opportunity of joining my brother, as suggested, in his brief 
Parisian trip. FanUn's Delacroix picture was a work painted by 
Fantin Latour, and named (I think) Hommage a Eugene Delacroix: 
it consisted of a group of portraits — Baudelaire, Fantin himself, etc., 
crowning a bust of Delacroix (or some such incident). I cannot 
now recollect whether or not I wrote anything about the picture ; 
though I appreciated its fine qualities at the very least as highly as 

my brother did. 


Tuesday [8 A^ovember 1864] 

My DEAR W — , , 

I have left the Grand Hotel, and am now at Hotel de 
Dunkerque, 32 Rue Laffitte. I do not know how many days 
I may stay now. I enquired at Delacroix when it shuts, and 
they said it would be open in all probability to the end of 
the month. 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1864. 179 

I should be very glad to hear you were coming. 

Fantin is anxious to see anything you may have written 
about his Delacroix picture. Is there anything, and where ? 
I saw the picture, and think it has a great deal of very able 
painting in parts ; but it is a great slovenly scrawl after all, 
like the rest of this incredible new French school — people 
painted with two eyes in one socket through merely being 
too lazy to efface the first, and what not. Fantin took me 
to see a man named Manet who has painted things of the 
same kind. I also went with him to Courbet's studio. 
Courbet was away, but I saw various works of his — by far 
the best an early portrait of himself about twenty-three or 
twenty-four, resting his head on one hand. It is rather hard 
and colourless, but has many of the fine qualities of a 
Leonardo. His other works have great merit in parts, and 
are all most faulty. Both he and Delacroix are geniuses 
much akin in style to David Scott, an exhibition of whose 
works would, I should think, make a great sensation here. 

Will you let me know if you have written anything on 
Fantin ? . . . 

It is splendid weather, but cold. 

B 34. 

My brother, being in Paris, went [to a certain well-known Japanese 
shop in the Rue de Rivoli, often visited about this time by Mr. 
Whistler, and sometimes by myself. The jocular allusion to Mr. 
Whistler, and to my brother's collection of blue china (which had 
made some progress in 1864, and had become a noticeable thing by 
the time when the great majority of it was sold off in 1872), will be 
understood as marking the friendly rivalry of zealous collectorship in 
which they indulged about this period. 

H6tel de Dunkerque, 
32 Rue Laffitte, Paris. 
12 November 1864. 

My dear Mamma, 

I am extremely sorry to hear how unwell both you 
and Christina have been ; but both, I learn from William, are 
better now — I trust definitively so, 


I fancy most probably I shall not stay here more than a 
week longer now. The weather has been splendid hitherto, 
though rather cold. In fact, I could not have been more 
fortunate. But to-day is wet for the first time. It does not, 
however, look like a hopeless case of wet. I have done no 
work at all as yet, but shall probably do a little if I stay a 
week longer. I took, according to my habit, enough work to 
last me for three months in case anything detained me. 

Paris is very much altered since I was last here, but I keep 
in so narrow a circle that I see little of the change. I have 
bought very little — only four Japanese books, and some 
photographs from the early Italian masters which William 
will be much interested in. I went to his Japanese shop, but 
found that all the costumes were being snapped up by a 
French artist, Tissot, who it seems is doing three Japanese 
pictures, which the mistress of the shop described to me as 
the three wonders of the world, evidently in her opinion quite 
throwing Whistler into the shade. She told me, with a great 
deal of laughing, about Whistler's consternation at my col- 
lection of china. This, however, will interest William more 
than you. 

It is well worth while for English painters to try and 
do something now, as the new French school is simple putres- 
cence and decomposition. There is a man named Manet (to 
whose studio I was taken by Fantin), whose pictures are 
for the most part mere scrawls, and who seems to be one 
of the lights of the school. Courbet, the head of it, is not 
much better. 

I shall bring the dear old Ancient a little tortoise-shell 
purse, and a fan for Christina, and a dress for Maggie, which I 
hope will not be an abomination to her. It is a sort of brown 
Coburg, with some embroidery on it, simpler and in better 
taste than most such things I have seen. 

I have changed my address, as you will see, and am now 
in a house which is one of those curious mechanical con- 
trivances peculiar to this country. My two rooms have 
seven doors in them, which, according as you open or shut 


By D. G. Rossetti. 

Henry F. Polydore. 


FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 865. 181 

them, offer you a choice of sounds and sensations, varying 
between the apex of a windmill, the interior of a paddle-box, 
and the circular whirl of a maelstrom. 

B 35- 
" Brown's Exhibition " is the exhibition, which Mr. Madox Brown 
opened in Piccadilly, of the majority of his pictures and designs of 
past years, including especially the painting, then recently finished, 
named Work. This is now in the Public Gallery of Manchester. 

16 Cheyne Walk, Chelsea. 

9 March 1865. 

My dear Mother, 

I am very sorry indeed to have missed your visit and 
that of my aunts to-day. I was gone to Brown's exhibition, 
where he is hard at work preparing for the public, and, find- 
ing I could be of use to him, I stayed late. Thanks for the 
necklace and sketches. I hope you made yourselves comfort- 
able, and saw what there was to see. I wish you would all 
name an early day to come and see me again. 

G I. 

A very few letters addressed by my brother to our Uncle Henry 
F. Polydore (resident in Gloucester, or sometimes in Cheltenham) 
have been preserved. This is the first of them. It shows that our 
uncle had advanced some amount of money to my brother — I 
should suppose from ^100 to ;!^2oo. The story about the very 
large price obtained by Mr. Gambart for a picture, The Blue JBoiver, 
was, I know, denied by Mr. Gambart : I am unable to clear up the 
details with any precision. The reference to " problems or enigmas 
in the Latin tongue " must indicate that our uncle had proposed to 
consult my brother as to some Latin passage of more or less 

15 November 1865. 

My dear Uncle, 

Your last letter is very considerate, but I almost fancy 
you ought to have some security in the shape of note of 


hand for the payment of the capital. Do you not think so ? 
As to the 5 per cent interest, I have already said I myself 
consider, as the payment of the capital is so long deferred, 
that the interest might reasonably be higher. However, L 
returned to this tariff, from my own proposal of lo per cent, 
on account of your having yourself, since that, proposed 3|- 
per cent. I was therefore bent on getting you to accept at 
least the medium scale, at which it now stands. 

My prospects promise to improve very much just now, 
through the high prices which some of my pictures have 
fetched in the market. Gambart, the great dealer, to whom 
I sold a recent picture of mine {The Blue Boiver), has re- 
sold it to a Mr. Mendel of Manchester, as I understand, 
for 1,500 guineas! This, as it was not a large picture, 
and had been painted in two months, is about the highest 
price proportionately that I ever heard of a picture fetching. 
Nor is this the only similar instance lately. I need hardly 
tell you that the price I received for the above picture, 
as for others, is very small, compared to the enormous 
rate at which it has been re-sold ; but such facts cannot fail 
to tell very shortly on my own prices in a very marked 
manner, though in themselves mere market-meteors, the 
lucky hits of a dealer's ingenuity. I may thus after all 
perhaps (who knows?) be in a position to re-pay you my 
debt sooner than I looked to do so. Already I am getting 
commissions and effecting sales to greater advantage than 
hitherto, and such advantage cannot but continue on the in- 
crease for the present. Should you mention this phenomenal 
market-transaction to any one, it would be better not to 
dwell on the fact that the dealer has made an enormous 
profit on the price paid to me. It is of course my interest 
to help him in getting the highest prices he can for my 
works, and not express the least discontent at his being the 
first to profit to such extent by the market he creates for 
them. I will take care my turn comes too. 

I do not know whether you may have seen an article in 
the Atlieiueiiiii on some of my pictures about a month ago. 

li^AMiLV-LETTERS—lS^S. 1 83 

There is also something said in last Saturday's number. 
Though crippled by editorial revision on the Art-critic's 
original dicta, these articles have proved no doubt of service 
to me. 

These matters are all egotistical, but I have reason to 
know that you take an interest in my affairs, and are glad 
I should do well. 

I am extremely sorry to hear so poor an account of house- 
hold health with you. I really fare better in this respect 
than I have any right to look for. Referring to my diary, 
I find there have been only twelve days during the five 
months ending with the close of October which have not 
been spent by me in work at my easel. I have completely 
missed all exercise and change of air this year, yet have no 
reason to complain as regards health. 

What success I may have with any problems or enigmas 
in the Latin tongue I view as being in itself quite a doubtful 
question. It strikes me that a very amusing pastime for 
some of your leisure hours might be found in such labours 
connected with the great Philological Society's Dictionary 
as WilHam has devoted himself to for some time past. If 
you felt any call in that direction, no doubt he could put 
you in the way of it, and the editors would be thankful. 

With love to Henrietta, I am 

Your affectionate Nephew, 


F 7. 

Towards the date of this letter Miss Isa Craig (afterwards Mrs. 
Knox) held a considerable repute as a poetess : I hardly know 
whether this endures at the present day. She had some small 
acquaintance with Christina, who seems to have got Gabriel to look 
into a question of illustrating some poem by Miss Craig. 

Two compositions of Christina's own are here referred to. Hero 
is a fairy-tale in prose, published in the Conimojiplace volume, 1870. 
As to the poem which Sandys was considering for the purpose of 
illustration, I have not any distinct idea. 


5 January [i 

Dear Christina, 

Miss Isa Craig called on me to-day, and seems nice. 
I couldn't do it ; but, as the poem seemed good for illustra- 
tion, I sent her on to Sandys, and, failing him, to Hughes. 
. . . Only I fear they've no idea of Sandys' prices. Hughes 
perhaps might do it cheap for love of you. You know he's 
painted a capital picture from your Birthday, with the poem 
at full length on the frame. You ought to call and see it, 
which would please him. 

Your Hero is splendid : I don't know if I'd ever read it. 
You ought to write more such things. 

I think I forgot to tell you about that other poem shown 
to Sandys. He read it, and on reflection said the only thing 
he could think of was to make a drawing of the woman lying 
ead, with some women preparing the grave-clothes and 
baby-clothes at the same tim.e. This seems a fine idea, but 
requiring to be pointed to in some way in the poem. Would 
you mind having it called Grave-clothes and Cradle-clothes, or 
something of that sort ? 

Love to Mamma and all. What in the world has become 
of William ? And is Hunt married ? I'm coming down soon. 

By the bye, I suppose you know now of one of the saddest 
things I ever heard — Mrs. Hannay's death on the 29th. I 
got a circular, and haven't yet had courage to write. When 
I've done so, I should like to call with William, if he thinks 
of doing so. 

B 36. 

Friday night \_February 1866]. 

My dear Mummy, 

TJie Beloved is going away on Tuesday night or 
Wednesday morning. I should like you to see it, if you can, 
finished, as I know you nurse my productions in your dear 
heart. William will be dining on Tuesday, so would }'ou 
come then, and stay to dinner? Sisters also of course if 

TF iP "^ T%* 7p tF 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 866. 1 85 

B 37- 
My brother carried into effect his intention of painting a portrait 
of our Mother— an oil-picture, life-sized and three-quarters length. 
He did not paint in oil or water-colour, after the date of this letter 
any portrait of Christina : nor do I think that Mr. Chapman did so.' 

My dear Mamma, ^'''"'''''' ^'^''''^• 

I am very anxious to paint your portrait. Do tell 
me what day next week you could come conveniently, sit to 
me, and dine. Maria and Christina might come too if they 
could, and enjoy the garden. 

Chapman, whom you met here, has been making interest 
with me to get Christina to sit to him for a portrait. Now 1 
want to do it myself, as soon as I have done yours, so shall 
remain neutral. 

Your afifectionate Son, 

D. G. Rossp:ttl 

You know Chapman is painting a little picture suggested 
by Christina's sonnet A Triad. 

B 38. 

" The_ title-page to Christina's book '^ is the title-page, illustrated 
by Gabriel, of her volume of poems. The Prince's Progress, etc. 

Dear Mamma, Thursday [i ,^66]. 

I think we said the 24th for your next sitting but 
suppose we say instead, Tuesday of next week. 

Your affectionate Son, 

*' * * * * * 

I have a proof of the title-page to Christina's book. 

A 24. 
Lord Charles Thynne was a brother-in-law of the Marchioness 
Dowager of Bath. He had been a clergyman of the Church of 


England, but had passed over to the Church of Rome. He died 

in 1894. 

[16 Cheyne Walk.] 
5 Jime [1866]. 

My dear Aunt, 

I should be very happy to receive Lord and Lady 
C. Thynne's visit on the Wednesday of next week, any time 
between three and five o'clock. I hope this may be con- 
venient to them, and am sorry to be so precise as to time, 
but am very busy. Of course all the introduction needed 
will be that they should send in their card when they call, 
as I shall be expecting them unless I hear to the contrary. 

Thanks for your most kind and I know most sincere good 
wishes. I have been pretty well in health, and any imperfec- 
tions in this respect I may pretty safely attribute more to 
a confirmed habit of life and work than to any defect of 
constitution. My work progresses continually, such as it 
is, and I should much like to have an early opportunity of 
.showing you all I have in hand. 

Uncle Henry was here yesterday for the second time since 
he has been in town. I am sorry to say he seems to me 
far from well. Christina, as you probably know, is in Scot- 
land. Her book is just out at last. Perhaps you have a 
copy. If not, I shall be happy to send you one. I think is looking very well again. I have made some 
progress lately with her portrait, which every one says is very 

My garden is looking nice again now, though left all to 
itself, and a wilderness in most people's opinions. I prefer 
to compare it to an Eden. At any rate, it is primitive 
enough by this time for the simile. 

By the bye, I have been intending, as you probably know, 
to build a studio in this house, either at the top or in the 
garden, and have only been deterred hitherto .from taking 
up the job by want of time to attend to it. Now, on 
enquiry, an architect gives it as his opinion that the thing 
on various accounts is not easy to accomplish. Thus, could 
I meet with a satisfactory residencs elsewhere, possessing 

FAMtLY-LfeTTERS— 1866. 1 87 

already the desired studio, I might perhaps be willing to 
relinquish this house, supposing I could let it to any decent 
advantage. I mention this on account of what you say 
respecting Lord C. Thynne's notion of living in Cheyne 
Walk — not of course necessarily for immediate repetition to 
him ; nor should I mention the idea at all at a first interview. 
If, however, you subsequently found that he really had such 
a wish, the matter might be named or not at your discretion. 
By the bye, let me ask a favour. Will you kindly address 
me as in the signature of this letter ? I have so written my 
name nearly all my life, and varieties in one's nomenclature 
are apt to create confusion. Not that the matter is of con- 
sequence to any one, not even greatly to 

Your affectionate Nephew, 


B 39- 

Whether the Rossettis (or possibly I should rather say the Delia 
Guardias) really have any armorial bearings is a matter unknown 
to me. My father owned (brought, I suppose, from Italy) a largeish 
seal marked with a crest — a tree having the motto Frangas non 
fledas — and he said this was regarded as his crest. Mr. Knewstub, 
my brother's art-assistant, who was connected with the Firm of 
Jenner and Knewstub, got that firm to present to Gabriel a die 
with the crest and a monogram • and the latter for some years 
habitually used note-paper thus stamped. Hence an allusion in the 
first paragraph of this letter. 

The Toilette picture here named is Lady Lilith ; the picture 
with the gold sleeve, Monna Vamia ; the Beatrice, Beata Beatrix. 
Colonel Feilding's picture will be understood as being The Girlhood 
of Mary Virgin. 

Mr. Clabburn was a Norwich manufacturer, who purchased two 
or three of my brother's paintings. Mr. Sandys painted a fine 
portrait of his very stately head and figure. 

24 Ajigust 1866. 

Good Antique, 

I have been often thinking of you, and meaning to 
write. . . . The other day an extraordinary apparent German 


wrote to me from Manchester about an iron cross in a 
German churchyard bearing the name of Antonio Rossetti, 
Maitre de Chapelle to a German Duke long ago, and asked 
me whether he had been an ancestor of mine. I answered 
with my proverbial courtesy, informing him that I didn't 
know, and also that the tree on this letter-paper was supposed 
possibly, though not very certainly, to be the arms of our 
family. He has written a second eccentric epistle, which 
I enclose in case it should interest you at all. . . . 

I have been working chiefly at the Toilette picture, and 
at the one with the gold sleeve, both of which I think you 
know. The former will, I think, be my best picture hitherto. 
I engaged it some time ago to a Mr. Leyland of Liverpool 
for 450 guineas, and hope to send it him by the end of 
September. The other one I have not yet sold, so that all 
the money is to come when I do. And, what between this 
and the Beatrice; (which I have engaged for 300 guineas to 
Mr. William Cowper), I hope a goodish sum will come in 
all at once, and enable me for the first time to open a 
banking account at the end of this year with a goodish sum, 
especially as, besides these two, I have some other small 
things in a forward state and still for sale ; nor do I 
anticipate any difficulty in selling any of them, though 1 
have as yet hardly shown them to any one. I am glad Mr. 
Cowper (who is Lord Palmerston's stepson, and was Chief 
Commissioner of the Board of Works in the last Ministry) 
is to have the Beatrice, as he, and his wife particularly, are 
very appreciative people, and it is pleasanter sending a 
poetic work where it will be seen by cultivated folks than to 
a cotton-spinner or a dealer. I could have got considerably 
more for the picture in some such quarter, I make no doubt, 
as I had several requests for it ; but, as Mr. Cowper had 
asked me for a picture, and is not at present a very rich 
man, I preferred offering it him for 300 guineas. This panic 
year, strange to say, promises to be much my best as yet. 

I have been telling you all this about myself, because T 
know you are a dear old thing and like to' hear it all. 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 866. 1 89 

I lately sent back Colonel Feilding's picture, with the offer 
to paint his wife's portrait in exchange for it if he liked ; 
but this he declined, as she had recently been sitting for a 
portrait, and couldn't stand it over again, and moreover did 
not wish to part with the picture, as her mother had given 
it to her. 

Mr. Clabburn, who gave me both the peacocks, old and 
new, was here to-day ; and says the present one may be 
expected with confidence to start a tail next year, as he will 
then be three years old, which is the proper age. He shows 

no sign as yet. 

» ***** 

B 40. 

The date of this letter must be in or abotit 1866. My brother 
made a little excursion with the painter Mr. Sandys^ with whom 
towards that time he was particularly intimate. The " box-tree 
trained in the form of an armchair " was (as this letter indicates) 
planted by my brother's servant Loader in the garden of 16 Cheyne 
Walk, just at the end of the narrow promenade leading from the 
back door of the house to the larger open space. It flourished 
tolerably well for awhile ; but after two or three years had withered 
away to a mere nothing, and was removed. 

Tenterden, Kent. 
Friday night [1? i866]. 

Good Antique, 

I left London on Monday, and till to-night have 
been at Winchelsea, which is a most delightful old place 
for quietness and old-world character. I have got you a 
photograph of the old church, which I shall give you on 
my return. The outside is fine — partly a ruin — and quite 
imbedded in ivy, and the inside contains some very fine 
tombs with effigies. I should think yourself, with Maggie 
or Christina or both, would find Winchelsea a most delight- 
fully quiet sojourn some time you are leaving town. The 
charges at the inn were very moderate, and I should think 
a moderate lodging could be got in a private house. A 
walk of two miles takes you to a most solitary sea-beach, 


and there are many good directions for a walk. Sandys 
and I walked a great deal, and also one day went in a dog- 
cart to some distance — about twenty miles — seeing several 
nice places, chiefly Northiam, where there is an old house 
of the most delightful kind with a garden full of walks of 
quaintly cut fir-trees, the best thing of the sort I ever saw. 
The proprietor politely allowed us to see over it on appli- 
cation. The garden at Northiam has perhaps infected the 
neighbourhood with a taste for cut shrubs, of which various 
specimens may be seen. I have myself secured a very curious 
one for my garden — a box-tree trained in the form of an 
armchair. It was at the door of a cottage, and had been 
trained by the inmates ever since 1833. The poor old woman, 
after these thirty-three years' labours, actually sold it me for 
;^i, and to-day I have sent it to Chelsea, where it is to be at 
once planted by Loader. As soon as I am back, you must 
come and see it. I am sure you will admire it very much, as 
it is in very splendid condition. Of course it cannot be sat 
in, but I shall have a light removable wooden framework 
placed inside it to make it fit for use, and take out to show 
its beauty when not needed. It was taken up with great 
care by the roots yesterday, the operation being performed 
by our Winchelsea landlord, who performed a journey for the 
purpose, and was looked on with a rather evil eye by the 
neighbourhood, the chair being a kind of local lion. It was 
then very carefully packed with manure round the roots to 
keep it safe till planted in my garden, which it has probably 
been to-day, as I telegraphed to Loader. When I see it safely 
there I shall send another sovereign to the poor old woman, 
who would probably not have parted with it in earlier and 
better days. Her husband was once a gardener, but is now 
blind. She might no doubt have got much more for it, had 
she been on the look-out for a customer, as it is quite a 
unique and beautiful thing. I shall be able before long to 
show you photographs of one or two spots I greatly admired 
at Winchelsea, and wished to recollect for pictures. I have 
left an order with a local photographer to take pictures of 


them for me, and have also ordered some which already exist 
of Northiam house and garden. 

On the day after our arrival at Winchelsea there was a 
solemn procession to inaugurate the Sessions, which were 
opened by the Mayor. The procession consisted of about 
seven persons, including the Mayor in splendid robes of 
scarlet lined with sables, and three officials in blue robes, one 
of whom was the parish barber and another the carpenter. 
These had silver maces — really splendid pieces of design of 
about the time of Edward II. or III. at latest ; and I also saw 
the town-seal of the same period, and got an impression of it 
in gutta-percha — a very fine design. This procession was 
viewed in the street by a mob of one female child and by 
ourselves from the inn window. When it had entered the 
Town-hall, we rushed in in a mob of three, including the 
landlord. The public was decidedly out-numbered by 
the officials, who mustered perhaps fifteen in all — including 
a dog who belonged to one of the constables, and seemed 
to consider the extension of their staves during the Mayor's 
address to be pointedly aimed at him. The Sessions con- 
sisted of the Mayor being informed that there were no cases, 
and then severely animadverting on an individual who had 
once been found drunk in the streets about six months 
before, and adding that these observations having fallen 
from the bench would, he hoped, prevent the recurrence of 
such an evil in the future. 

This may give you some idea of the pleasant doziness of 
the place, which is more to my taste I think than any other 
I know. Every one is eighty-two if he is not ninety-six. 

I feel very much better, and have come on here to-night, 
having heard that there are some interesting things in the 
neighbourhood. We may probably visit Stratford-on-Avon, 
Kenilworth, and Warwick, and perhaps take some other 
direction also before our return. I do not, however, expect to 
be away much more in all than a fortnight, though it might 
possibly be that I remained longer. 

I hope your dear old health continues good, and that 


W[illiam], M[ana], and C[hristina], are all well. Love to 
them and all the family. I do not suggest your answering 
this letter, as I could not tell you with certainty where to 
address me. Take care of your darling old self, 

And believe me 

Your most affectionate Son, 


C 52. 

In this letter there is a rather tart tone which speaks for itself. 
The general subject is the withdrawal from circulation of Mr. 
Swinburne's Poems and Ballads, by their first publishers, Messrs. 
Moxon & Co. Mr. Woolner had written to me that he had been 
charged with conducing to the withdrawal, or " suppression," of the 
volume; and that, the statement being untrue, he wished me to 
convey his denial to my brother. The " friendly duty [of my 
brother] towards Swinburne " had consisted, I believe, in calling on 
the publishers, and endeavouring to accommodate matters. 

16 Cheyne Walk. 
27 September 1866. 

My dear William, 

Though withdrawn for the moment, Swinburne's book 
is not " suppressed," so no one need exonerate himself from 
having contributed to such a result. 1 myself jointly with 
Sandys devoted one afternoon to what we considered a 
friendly duty towards Swinburne ; though not certainly, as 
you know, because we think the genius displayed in his 
works benefits by its association with certain accessory 
tendencies. Since then, my own constant occupations have 
prevented me from meddling further in the matter, or from 
becoming the reporter, apologist, or antagonist, of those who 
do or do not. 

B 41. 

During the little excursion which he made to Lymington and its 
neighbourhood, my brother was chiefly in the company of the poet 
Mr. AUingham, whom he had known since 1850 or -thereabouts. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 868. 1 93 

Lymington, Hants. 
Thursday [19 Septemier 1867]. 

Dear good Antique, 

I have been out here about a week or rather more, 
and walking eight to ten miles a day, which I have enjoyed 
very much. There is plenty of delightful country all round, 
and the weather has been splendid. To-day, however, it 
seems breaking up for a time ; so, as I must choose some 
moment to come to London and look at copies going on for 
me, I may probably come now, and you may see me in a 
day or two, but I shall, I believe, be coming into the country 
here or elsewhere again for a while. The hedges are still 
beautiful here, plentifully enriched with honeysuckles, snap- 
dragons, and other flowers, and loaded with blackberries. 
Autumn gives the woods a monotony in their tints, but 
hardly as yet a decided change. I hope to find you well 
when I see you, and with love to brother and sisters and all 
relations am 

Your most affectionate Son, 


Burnell Payne was a young clergyman (but he ceased from 
clerical work in the latter part of his brief life), and was also a 
writer on art, of keen perception and uncommon promise. 

[16 Cheyne Walk. 

28 April 1868.] 

Dear W , 

Will you address and post this at once? Sandys's 
picture of Medea has been turned out of the R.A. — a most 
disgraceful affair. I have written also to Burnell Payne. 
Can yon do anything in the way of denunciation ? 

B 42. 

May 12, 1868. 

My dearest Mother, 

The reminder of the solemn fact that I am a man of 
forty now could hardly come agreeably from any one but 
VOL. n. '13 


yourself. But, considering that the chief blessing of my 
forty good and bad years has been that not one of them has 
taken you from me, it is the best of all things to have the 
same dear love and good wishes still coming to rrie to-day 
from your dear hand at a distance as they would have done 
from your dear mouth had we seen each other. This we 
shall again soon, I trust. 

I meant to have given you for your last dear birthday a 
sideboard which I have got, but some doing-up which it 
needed was not finished in time, nor indeed is yet quite done. 
I hope it may be of use to you, though rather large ; but it 
is a really beautiful thing. It has a great plate-glass back 
with beautiful carved pillars, and some convenient drawers 
and receptacles. 1 forget the exact arrangement, but this 
gives some notion of it \piagrain here\ It strikes me the 
best place for it would be against the folding doors either 
in the drawing or dining room. The pillars are carved in 
the " Chippendale " style, and are really beautiful. 

Will you give my love to Christina ? I am writing to 
Uncle Henry with this. I hope you are benefiting by the 
change, and am ever 

Your most affectionate Son, 

D. Gabriel Rossettl 

C 54. 

I had travelled from London to Venice, stopping at Verona in an 
interval between trains \ and, on arriving in Venice, I found that all 
my money for the trip, except the trivial sum which I had in my 
pocket, had been stolen at Verona out of my luggage. I had 
therefore had to telegraph to my brother to supply my present 
need : the following was his answer. Blumenthal & Co. are bankers 
in Venice, whom I had consulted on the subject. 

17 June 1868. 

Dear W , 

I have paid a cheque, £"^0, into the Union Bank for 
you, and they have written to-day to Blumenthal & Co., 
3945 Traghetto Sto. Benedetto, to pay you that sum. I 


wanted the bank here to telegraph to Blumenthal to pay 
you the money ; but they said this was quite against the 
rules, as frauds might be practised. I am much annoyed at 
this delay, and do not even know whether you will get this 
letter. I telegraphed to you last night in answer to your 
telegram, and sent the message to Blumenthal's, as you 
gave me no address in yours. 

I am sending this to Euston Square in case they know 
your address there, but otherwise can only send it to the 
Poste Restante in hopes you may call for it. I greatly 
regret that your trip should have been baulked by this 
hitherto unexplained accident. I would have sent more 
money if you had told me ; as it is, I send 30 instead of 
20 ; but I presumed, from your only naming that sum, that 
it was all you needed. In great haste in middle of a sitting. 


D. Gabriel Rossetti. 

C 55- 

16 Cheyne V/alk. 
22 June 1 1868]. 

Dear William, 

It is extremely vexatious to think of the inconvenience 
to which you have been put. However, I judge by the 
telegram received at Euston Square that you got my first 
telegram sent immediately on receipt of your first ; and I 
suppose another which I sent on seeing the one to Christina 
has reached you too. I hope to-day you will have got the 
money — ^^"30 — which I sent through the bank to Blumenthal 
on the morning following your first telegram, and that you 
will not find it necessary to cut your trip short. I will 
show your letter to Mamma to-night, but probably she has 
one too. 

I wish I had come with you to Italy, but did not see the 
great desirableness of it till just after you started. I suppose 
from what you say that your pockets or luggage were rifled 


without your knowing it, and trust you have not lost your 
watch also. 

Of course I hope to hear of your getting the money, as 
this will ease my mind about your position. 

Your affectionate Brother, 


P.S. — 1 wished of course that the bank here should 
telegraph to Blumenthal to pay you the money ; but this 
they would not do, as they said frauds would follow such a 

C 56. 
This note was written from the ancient Scottish castle, the seat of 
our friend Miss Boyd ; W. B. Scott was there along with my brother. 
" The Antique " was a designation of familiar affection which Gabriel 
(as some preceding letters have witnessed) applied to our Mother. 
This note is interesting as showing that the terrible affliction of sleep- 
lessness, which was the origin of all the breaking-up of my brother's 
health, had already been going on some while before the autumn 
of 1868. 

Penkill Castle, Girvan, Ayrshire. 

Saturday [26 September 1868]. 

Dear W , 

Here I am after toils worthy of yEneas. I shall write 
before long to the Antique. 

This is to ask you to send Scott any Notes and Queties 
that contain articles about the Fairford windows attributed 
to A. Durer. 

I spent a couple of hours in the Exhibition at Leeds, 
where there are a good many things worth seeing : a most 
glorious Sandro Botticelli (Nativity), a very fine Carpaccio 
{called Landing of Queen Cornaro in Cyprus), and splendid 
heads by Titian, Morone, Bellini, and Velasquez. 

This is a delightful place, and I slept better last night than 
I have done for a long time. 

Your friends here send regards. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 868. I97 

B 43. 

Penkill Castle, Girvan, Ayrshire. 

October 2, 1868. 

My dearest Mother, 

I have been meaning to write to you, but was in 
hopes of being able to give better news of my eyesight, 
which I am sorry to say is not the case yet. My sleep 
has improved extremely. 

The glen belonging to the house here is a perfect paradise 
— one of the most beautiful spots I ever was in — and much 
of the scenery around is interesting. I take good walks and 
have a good appetite, and in most respects am perfectly well. 
The weather is in the main fine, and everything favourable ; 
Miss Boyd's kindness being extreme, and Scotus a good 
companion, though not over fond of locomotion. Visitors 
are fortunately most rare, only one party having as yet 
turned up. Of this party one member was Lady Waterford, 
who again spoke of the illustrations she had been making, 
in conjunction with Mrs. Boyle, to Christina's Maiden Song, 
and told me that Mr. Gladstone had repeated the poem to 
them by heart. 

I do not yet know how long I may be staying, but I fear 
I should find work so little possible, were I to return to 
London at present, that I have no temptation to do so. 
However, I may perhaps soon find that I am inconveni- 
encing Miss Boyd in her movements by staying here so late 
in the year, and that may bring me back. 

With love to all at home, including Uncle Henry, 

I am 

Your most affectionate Son, 


B 44- 

The P.S. of this letter refers to the pictures from The Kings 
Qiiair, by James I. of Scotland, which Mr. Scott painted in Penkill 
Castle. No doubt these pictures, by calling my brother's attention 


to the royal poet and his works, conduced to his writing, after an 
interval of several years, the ballad of The King's Tragedy. 

6 October 1868. 

Good Antique, 

I'm afraid I didn't write very hopefully to you last 
time, so I had better enclose you a letter just received from 
Bader, the oculist of Guy's Hospital, who was the first I 
consulted. I have not seen him for some little time ; but, 
since being here, received a note from him, and wrote 
in reply respecting some additional troublesome symptoms 
which had supervened since my seeing him. His favourable 
view seems, as you see, to be unaltered, however, if that is 
worth much. I thought at any rate you would like to see 
the note. 

I have just got your dear letter, and one from William. In 
■yours I think I detect a funny old intention of writing large 
for the benefit of my sight. This would be quite in the 
Antique spirit. 

The kindness of Miss Boyd is unbounded, and I suppose I 
shall not be returning to London at present. The weather 
here continues almost entirely fine in the daytime ; indeed, 

more splendid walking weather could not well be imagined. * 


I get up very late here, to give myself the utmost benefit 
of sleep, which continues in a vastly improved condition. I 
then simmer gradually to walking-heat, and walk accordingly. 
In the evening, after dinner, we read aloud, and sometimes 
play whist. There is an aunt of Miss Boyd's, an old maiden 
lady named Miss Losh, a year younger than your funny old 
self, who is staying here, and is a nice, cheerful, intelligent old 
thing. I read a vast amount of Christina aloud the other 
evening, which was much enjoyed, though every one knew it 
already. The 2nd vol. only is here. A passage occurs in 
L. E. L. (Christina's poem) which says 

"And rabbit thins his fur." 

Miss Losh surmised this to refer to the habit of rabbits 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1869. 199 

female, which, when they expect a brood, pull off some of 
their own fur to make a soft bed. This indeed I witnessed 
in one of my own rabbits just before leaving Chelsea. 
Was this Christina's intention ? In such case his should be 
changed to its, as her would not come in well. 
With love to all. 

Your most affectionate Son, 


P.S. — ^I did not mention in my last that Scotus's pictures 
are now quite finished, and look very fine. There is a hedge- 
hog together with other beasts, in the last one, which would 
delight Christina. 

C 57- 

The "plan" here referred to was that of the series of publica- 
tions named Moxon^s Popular Poets, which I had been invited to 
edit. Mr. J. Bertrand Payne was the acting partner in the Moxon 
firm. A volume of selections, not much unlike what my brother 
suggested, was compiled by me, but finally set aside by the 
publishers : my brother did not co operate in it. 

James Smetham was the artist who did the delicate little head and 
tail pieces to the earlier volumes of the series, of landscape-glimpses, 
foliage, etc. : he did not do any of the regular illustrations. Mr. 
Madox Brown and his son Oliver (here and elsewhere termed Nolly) 
did those for the Byron volume. Mr. Scott was not engaged. 

[16 Cheyne Walk.] 
Thursday [4 February 1869]. 

Dear W , 

I like the plan you tell me of. If I were you, I would 
certainly try and get Payne to conclude with (or include in 
the series) a volume of selected Minor Poets, comprising 
many good unknown things, such as Ebenezer Jones, etc. 
I would lighten your labours by assisting you in this. I 
don't understand if old poets are to be put into the series. 

As to the etchings, Smetham is an available man certainly ; 
but do you propose having all the volumes done by one man? 


It seems to me after all that Scott would not be so ineligible, 
besides that he seems to me under the circumstances almost 
unavoidable with pleasantness. Hov/ever, I would mention 
it first of all to Brown, as I know he is particularly short of 
work just now, and it is just possible he might like to do 
it, perhaps with help from Nolly, or with Nolly's name and 
his own revision. Shields I think unlikely, as I have a 
decided impression he told me he would do no more book- 
illustrations. If you wish to try him, his address is 

F. J. S. 

Cornbrook House 
Cornbrook Park 

The only other man I can think of is Nettleship (unless 
Halliday might be also eligible). Nettleship would do well 
for Shelley or anything of that sort. 

Of course I should be very glad if Smetham were selected, 
and he has the advantage of being quite as good at land- 
scape as figures. 


I shall see you to-night at Scott's, but write in case talk be 
difficult there. 

B 45- 

The sonnets here described in so deadly-lively a style must be 
those which at this time had just been published in the Fortnightly 
Review, including the quartett named Willow-wood. The others 
were Winged Hours, Sleepless Dreams, Broken Music, Inclusiveness, 
Known in Vain, The Landmark, Lost Days, Lost on both Sides, The 
Vase of Life, A Superscription, and Newborn Death. 

March i, 1869. 

Dear Darling, 

I send you my sonnets, which are such a lively band 
of bogies that they may join with the skeletons of Christina's 
various closets, and entertain you by a ballet. Their shanks 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 869. 201 

are rather ghastly, it is true, but they will keep their shrouds 
down tolerably close, and creak enough themselves to render 
a piano unnecessary. As their own vacated graves serve 
them to dance on, there is no danger of their disturbing the 
lodgers beneath ; and, if any one overhead objects, you may 
say that it amuses them perhaps and will be soon over, and 
that, as their hats were probably not buried with them, these 
will not be sent round at the close of the performance. 

It is to be feared indeed that they have left a growing 
family who may be trained to the same line of business ; but 
in the long run the cock crows, or the turnip-head falls 
off the broomstick, or the price of phosphorus becomes an 
obstacle, or the police turn up if necessary. 

B 46. 

The allusion to Christina at the close of this note indicates that 
she was then away on a visit at Penkill Castle. 

16 Cheyne Walk. 

14 July 1869. 

Good Antique, 

I have not been to see you for whole ages, and am 
really most sorry to be so long without your dear company. 
The last time I came you were gone to bed, and ever since 
I have had an extraordinary number of engagements. I have 
taken to going out more than before to dinner-parties etc., 
in the hope of shaking off ennui; and, as soon as one 
begins that sort of thing, one gets involved to an extent 
quite unforeseen. I shall certainly see you in an evening 
or two, you dear old thing. And, if you can come up to 
my place, the tent and weather together make the garden 
charming at present. However, I may possibly be out one 
day before the end of this week, so will not ask you to come 
without appointment. 

I hope you continue to have good news of Christina. I 
shall turn up at Penkill myself some time before very long, 
I dare say. 


B 47. 

Penkill Castle, Girvan, Ayrshire. 
Saturday \_Augiist 21, 1869]. 

Good Antique, 

Here I am since Thursday afternoon, as 1 know you 
will be glad to hear in your maternal solicitude. I left 
London on Tuesday, and spent two nights and a day at old 
Miss Losh's house near Carlisle, where, as you may be sure, 
she made me very comfortable. I saw in the neighbourhood 
some most remarkable architectural works by a former Miss 
Losh, who was the head of the family about the year 1830. 
She must have been really a great genius, and should be better 
known. She built a church in the Byzantine style, which is 
full of beauty and imaginative detail, though extremely severe 
and simple. Also a mausoleum to her sister — a curious kind 
of Egyptian pile of stones with a statue of the lady in the 
centre, and opposite a Saxon cross — a sort of obelisk, repro- 
duced from an old one, but with restorations by the lady 
herself. Also a Pompeian house for the schoolmaster, a 
parsonage, and a most interesting cemetery-chapel attached 
to a cemetery which she presented to the parish before 
such things were instituted by law. The chapel is an exact 
reproduction of one which was found buried in the sands in 
Cornwall, and excited a good deal of controversy at the time 
under the name of "The Lost Church." She also built a 
large addition to the family mansion at Woodside in the 
Tudor style. All these things are real works of genius, but 
especially the church at Wreay, a most beautiful thing. She 
was entirely without systematic study as an architect, but 
her practical as well as inventive powers were extraordinary. 
I am sure the whole of this group of her works would interest 
you extremely, and I should suggest your paying a visit to 
the neighbourhood on one of your holidays. There is also 
most lovely scenery, and some amiable Loshes besides the 
Miss Losh you wot of, whose house is called Ravenside 
(five miles from Carlisle), where I am sure she would be 
delighted to welcome you and yours if she heard you were 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1869. 20^ 

likely to come her way. I suppose you would not be able to 
go this year, or it is possible I may be in the neighbourhood 
again on my way back to London. However, my movements 
are rather uncertain at present as to time, as I am not sure 
how long I may be able to remain here, from various causes. 

Everything here is as pleasant as ever, and Miss Boyd 
sends you and Maggie her love, as does Scotus also. I 
have brought no work down, as I felt need of rest and 
was uncertain as to time. 

I hope you are benefiting at Folkestone, and shall be 
delighted to hear so from yourself. What a good piece of 
news William's promotion was ! 

There is some prospect of Brown coming down here. Miss 
Losh seems very uncertain. 

I am printing some old and new poems — chiefly old — for 
private circulation ; and shall send them you of course when 
the proofs are complete. To-day I am calling-in William's 
valuable aid for revision. My object is to keep them by me 
as stock to be added to for a possible future volume ; but in 
any case I thought it necessary to print them, as 1 found 
blundered transcripts of some of my old things were flying 
about, and would at some time have got into print perhaps, — 
a thing afflictive to one's bogie. 

With love to Maggie, 

Your most affectionate Son, 


P.S. — I should have said that just before I left town I at 
last got possession of my stables, and shall very probably be 
turning them at once into a fine big studio, but must first see 
about getting leave to build and an extension of lease. 

P. P.S. — I suppose I told you of my seeing Bowman before 
I left London, and that, instead of taking a guinea fee 
(which he refused), he proposes to pay me 1 50 for a little 
water-colour which is fortunately just upon finished, so that 
the tin will come in conveniently on my return to town 
without much additional trouble. Scott and Miss Boyd both 
desire to be most kindly remembered to you. 


C 58. 

The early lyric To Mary in Summer, and the sonnet The French 

Liberation of Italy, were cut out, as here proposed, from my brother's 

published volume, and they remain unpublished. The sonnet The 

Bullfinch appears printed as Beauty and the Bird. 

[Penkill Castle, Ayrshire.] 
Saturday [21 August 1869]. 

Dear William, 

After much bother with the proofs, and constantly- 
finding new blunders, I have bethought myself to bother you 
with them, so send them with this by book-post Would you 
read them through, and, if you find anything obviously wrong, 
correct it ? In punctuation I have my own ideas, which may 
not be yours, so I will ask you generally to leave this alone ; 
but, if anything seems like a printer's error, will you notify 
it to me, and I will tell you whether to alter it? Also I 
should wish much to know of anything you disliked in any 
poem, as it is still time to alter. 

I believe I am likely to cut out Mary in Siminier, The 
Choice (three sonnets), and The Bullfinch (sonnet) ; but am 
not yet quite certain. I hesitated much to print Ave, because 
of the subject ; but thought it well done, and so included it. 
Do you think the foot-note is sufficient as a protest ? The 
question I asked about " wert " and " wast " refers chiefly to 
a line in the first paragraph of this — " Thou hast been sister, 
etc.," — which if admissible I should make, " Thou once wert 
sister," etc. So, if you think this will do, put it. 

Sonnet, Frenc]i Liberation of Italy, I have removed from the 
second section, and shall not replace. 

When you have realized all your ideas on the proofs, I wish 
you would write me at once. You need not send them back 
to me, as I have another set. But I will write you when to 
send them on to the printer. Love to Christina. 

c 59. 

"The Italian poem" is the one beginning "La bella donna" 
introduced into A Last Co?ifession. I had informed my brother that 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1869. 205 

I considered some of the lines lax in metre, according to Italian 
prosody. The lyric A Song and Music was eventually omitted from 
his volume of 1870, but it appears in the Ballads and Sonnets, 1881. 
" The article in Tinsley " was one of the series of articles in Tinskfs 
Magazine on Ojir Living Poets, written by Mr. H. B. Forman — the 
one which related to my brother. 

[Penkill Castle, Ayrshire.] 
Thursday [26 August 1869]. 

Dear W , 

Thanks for your valuable letter. I am attending to it, 
and will do so further when I get your concluding admoni- 
tions. I have sent the Italian poem to Maggie to see if she 
makes the same remarks, and should like to show it to 
Teodorico. You know, I think there is no doubt that metre 
of this kind abounds in the early poets. 


1 think I shall omit the Song and Music, page 67. 

I remember I had made additions (now lost) at points 
which I thought abrupt in Stratton Water and Staff and 
Scrip. In Stratton Water some stanzas were inserted after 
" The nags were in the stall " (page 48), to give the gradual 
impression of his recognizing the girl whom he thought dead. 
Do you think it is necessary to write something of the sort 
again ? 

In Staff and Scrip there was something added where the 
damsel gives her the relics, to develop this incident and help 
the transition. Does this seem necessary? Or is there any 
other point in any of the poems which seems to want working 
out ? 

I have added a first stanza to Sister Helen, as Scott said 
the impression of what was going on was not perfectly 

Would the title of the Sonnet at page 93 run better On 
the Refusal of Aid to Hungary, 1849, to Poland, 1861, to 
Crete, 1 867, or is it better in the simpler form ? 

The article in Tinsley is gratifying. ... I suppose, from your 


not being recurred to, there will certainly be a third on you. 
The raking up of My Sister s Sleep will I fancy render it 
necessary for me to include that rather spoony affair in my 
reprint, as, now attention is attracted a little to it, it may go 
on till the thing gets into print again without the correction 
it ought to have. What think you? I don't remember it 
clearly, and would be obliged if you or Christina would take 
the trouble of copying it from the Germ, and sending it here 
by return of post. If Christina would read] my things, and 
give any hints that occur to her, I would be thankful. Tell 
her this with my love. 

B 48. 

26 Atigtcst 1869. 

My DEAREST Mother, 

I was very glad to hear from you again, and know 
that you have been enjoying your trip. The weather here is 
splendid, though so warm for walking that I generally change 
my shirt on coming in ! 

I am doing no work except a little in the way of revising 
proofs, at which William is now affording me his usual most 
valuable help. He has fallen very foul of a little Italian 
poem of mine in which he finds various errors of metre and 
even of grammar. I would like Maria's opinion, and so 
enclose it without mentioning the weak points found by 
William. Will she at her leisure give me her verdict ? Of 
course it is meant to be a very irregular sort of antiquated 
Italian, and I am pretty sure quite as bad slips are continual 
among the earliest poets. 

I have seen Tinsley, which is so far satisfactory that, after 
twenty years, one stranger has discovered one's existence. 
The . . . opinions supremely correct for the most part, as 
far as they go ! ! From what was said in the former article 
about William, and from the absence of all recurrence to him 
in this one, I have no doubt he will furnish matter for a 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1869. 20/ 

I believe I have yet nine years of my lease at Cheyne 
Walk to run. Thus my plan will be to apply for an exten- 
sion of lease before building ; but, if this is refused, or a very 
considerable immediate increase of rent made the condition 
of it, I shall then, I think, build irrespective of contingencies, 
as nine years is a long time ; indeed, Time may be no longer 
for one, for anything one knows. 

With love to Maggie, 

Your most affectionate Son, 

D. Gabriel R. 

P.S. — It is pleasant to know that poor Henrietta is suffering 
somewhat less. 

I believe the author of the Tinsley articles is probably a 
man named Forman, unknown to me. 

C 60. 

The reader who takes sufficient interest in the minutiae of my 
brother's poems should look up the volume of 1870, and follow out 
in it the points here mooted. I should soon get tedious if I adven- 
tured to explain them in detail. I will only say that pages 16 and 14 
belong (in the original form of printing not for publication) to The 
Burden of Nineveh \ 25 and 22 to Ave\ 5 and i to The Blessed 
Damozel; 10 and 8 to Love's Nocturn ; 65 to Plighted Promise; 
147 to The Choice ; 157 to Retro me Sathana ; 167 to Our Lady of 
the Rocks ) 169 to ^ Venetimi Pastoral; 177 to Venus. The con- 
cluding reference to San Rocco relates to the prose story of ILarid 
and Soul. I had pointed out to my brother that San Rocco lived 
at a date subsequent to the supposed date of this narrative, and 
that consequently a church dedicated to him could not then have 


Friday 27 August 1869. 

Dear W , 

Your second to hand to-day. I'll now go over some 
of your ground — neglecting such things as I quite agree in, 
and ignoring others here and there, where they involve 
corrections I must attend to. 


Page 1 6. Miiminies.—T\i\'& I had thought of already, and it 
troubled me, I can alter it as follows : — 

" A traveller. Nay, but were not some 
Of these even then antiquity ? " 

Or " thine own antiquity ? " Which is the best ? 

The word traveller I do not quite like. I meant no more 
by pilgrim. Do you think the change desirable ? 

# * * . * * * 

Page 25. I don't like to shorten the last line. It used to 
stand ''Saint Mary Virgin," etc. Is this better? There is 
a point in this poem I am going to change, either less or more 
thus (the present sirnile trivial for the sea) : — 
Page 22. 

"the sea 
Sighed further off eternally, 

human \ 
As heavy [ sorrow sighs in sleep." 
ancient ) 


"Like ancient sorrow or sad sleep.' 

The first would require to change eyes in next line to gaze. 
However, I am not sure whether I do not wish to omit the 
whole five lines beginning " Within " and ending " through," 
and substitute one comprehensive line of some sort rhyming 
to sleep. What say you? In last page of Ave, I remember 
I had changed arrayed into some word more of the same 
latinized value as conjoint, but cannot remember what. Can 
you suggest a word ? 

Page 5. A question I wish to ask on my own hook is 
whether trembling or tremulous would be best in the last line 
in italics. The first is objectionable because of stepping above, 
but does not the second trip awkwardly ? " Circlewise " : 
would this be better, " They sit in circle " ? I dare say you 
agree with the removal of lapse for " flight " in last stanza but 


Page I. " And her hair lying down her back." Is the sound 
awkward ? Is " And her hair laid upon "etc. better? 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1869. 209 

Page 10. Does the last stanza of this page seem awkwardly 
interpolated ? and does it seem that a more distinct speech 
for the spirit is necessary to introduce the next stanza ? 

Page 8. Third stanza — last line sounds shortish, but is not. 
What do you say ? Suggest anything. 

Page 65. Hecate wouldn't do, as it reminds the general 
world of Macbeth. I see no objection to Luna, but none 
either to Cynthia except that people know it less as meaning 
the moon. Dian would answer best of all for the meaning of 
the passage, but I didn't like the sound so well as Luna. I 
like the long lines myself. 

Page 14. It occurs to me to go back and ask your opinion 
on a point here. The stanza " On London stones " is com- 
bined from what was once two stanzas. The change was 
made when I printed the poem first. 

" On London stones. . . . 

.... the old earth and sea. 

How much Heaven's thunder — how much else 

Man's puny roar? — what cry of shells 

Cleft amid leaguered citadels — 

How many lordships loud with bells 

Heardst thou in secret Nineveh ? 

Oh when upon each sculptured court 
Where even the wind might not resort — 
O'er which Time passed, of like import 
With the wild Arab boys at sport — 
A living face looked in to see, — 
Oh seemed it not," etc 

I hardly know why I made the omission, except for the 
great end of condensation. Is there anything lost by it, and 
does the present form seem at all abrupt ? However, Scott, 
to whom I have just read what I am writing for his opinion, 
thinks the second half of the first stanza rather extraneous, 
but the first half of the second a great gain. I have some 
idea that Brown once suggested difficulties about the shells, 
VOL. II. 14 


bells, etc. — could they be heard under the earth ? were there 
any to be heard ? etc. If you think first half second stanza 
very desirable, and the previous omitted lines objectionable, 
try and suggest some point of idea to fill the gap. 

Page 147. " Care, gold, and care," can be altered to " Vain 
gold, vain lore," which meets your views. There is a very 
vexatious point connected with this sonnet which was one 
reason for my thinking of omitting the three. The idea, 
" They die not, never having lived," is identical with one at 
the close of Browning's In a Gondola. I know that I had 
never then read that poem, and that on first reading it this 
annoying fact struck me at once ; but then this is not known 
to the world. The point is just what is wanted, and not 
possible to alter. There is a similar case in the Nochirn 
(page 8) — " Lamps of an auspicious soul " stood in my last 
correction (made long ago) " pellucid," which is much finer. 
But lately in the Ring and Book I came on pellucid soul ap- 
plied to Caponsacchi, and the inevitable charge of plagiarism 
struck me at once as impending whenever my poem should 
be printed. 

There is also in the Ring and Book " Pale frail wife," 
which interferes in the same way with the " pale frail mist " 
of my New Year's Burden, also of course written long before. 
But this I left. 

Page 157. "Many years," etc., is a favourite line of mine. 
It used to stand A fezv years, etc., which of course was one 
of the impossible intonations of that early epoch. 

Page 167. I also object to difficult rhyming with vault of 
course most absolutely. But, the distance from rhyme to 
rhyme being considerable, and alteration difficult, I have left 
it. I suppose I did not notice it at the moment of writing 
the sonnet (in front of the picture in British Institution 
many years ago), though I know I did just afterwards. 

Page 169. "Life touching lips," etc. I remember you 
expressed a preference once before for the old line, which 
seems to me quite bad. " Solemn poetry " belongs to the 
class of phras ab 5 3 lately forbidden, I think, in poetry. It 

t'AMlLY-LETTERS — 1869. 211 

is intellectually incestuous, — poetry seeking to beget its 
emotional offspring on its own identity. Whereas I see 
nothing too " ideal " in the present line. It gives only the 
momentary contact with the immortal which results from 
sensuous culmination, and is always a half-conscious element 
of it. 

% ^ W ^ ^ '^ 

Page 177. "Venus Verticordia." I knew the passage in 
Lempriere — st'nce writing the sonnet, or rather christening 
the picture. It is awkward. I'll cut the "Verticordia" out 
here, I think. 

Pages 202, 207. " San Rocco." Please suggest a new saint. 

On reflection, I think the best plan will be for you to 
post your set of proofs to me ai once on getting this letter, 
as I have other changes to make in them before sending 
back to the printer, and can more shortly do them myself 
than explain them to you. 

Please answer questions here asked as soon as possible. 
I will probably apply again for Christina's views with the 
next revise. 

C 61. 

Leys, mentioned in the P.S. of this letter, was Baron Leys, the 
famous Belgian painter. The inspiration and excellence of his 
works were such as could not fail to secure my brother's hearty 


Tuesday [31 August 1869]. 

Dear W , 

Thanks for your note to-day. I think I shall most 
Hkely omit the Italian poem. At the same time I get 
Christina's copy of Sisters Sleep, which I return tattooed to 
you for consultation. The thing is very distasteful to me 
as it stands, and I have quite determined on all changes made 
in pen and ink. In pencil I indicate a very radical change 
in the omission of two more stanzas which would eliminate 
the religious element altogether, Scott thinks the poem in 


this most rarified form is simplest and best, and I incline to 
that view myself. However, I feel by no means quite sure, 
and have annotated the MS. explaining my conflicting views. 
Will you give them your best attention, and let me know 
your views on all the points? I should not care to reprint 
this thing at all, were it not for the likelihood of its re- 
appearing some day otherwise without even the changes 
absolutely necessary. 

* * * «- # * 

In Love-Lily do you like best 

"Ah let not life be still distraught," 

(as it stands) or 

"Ah let not hope" etc. ? 

In this poem it has crossed my mind to change the title, and 
merely use a proper name, as DorotJiy. What is the meaning 
of that name ? I forget. But I do not think I shall really 
do this. What say you ? " Whose speech tvutJi knows not " 
etc. is better than faith, is it not ? 

But perhaps, as it occurs to me the proof will probably 
have left you before you get this, I had better put off further 
questions till I can send you them again in a revised state. 


D. G. R. 

I don't think dating throughout would do. 

I had not heard of Leys's death. It is indeed a sad and 
premature event. He called on me the year before last, or 
beginning of last, looking perfectly well. 

P.P.S. — What do you think of the proposed note to Sisters 
Sleep ? The curse of In Memoriam would be thus avoided. 
I remember too there is some Christmas Eve business in 
In Memoriam, but what I cannot remember. Of course the 
note is strictly true. This In Memoriam question was one 
great reason for my burking it. 

Will you thank Christina much, with my, love? 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 869. 2 I 3 

C 62. 

The only passage in this letter which requires elucidation is the 
paragraph " About Miching Mallecho." I had been struck with 
a couplet in Longfellow's Hiawatha about an American-Indian 
mythologic personage — 

"Mitche Manito the mighty, 
He the dreadful Spirit of Evil " — 

and had queried whether this possibly might throw light on the 
much-debated phrase in Hamlet " Miching Mallecho." I soon after- 
wards wrote on the subject to Notes and Queries. I think the point 
was never followed up by other correspondents ; nor perhaps did it 
deserve to be. 

Thursday [2 September 1869]. 

Dear W , 

To-day I have sent my proofs to the printers, and 
told them to forward you a corrected set, as well as one to 
me. This I suppose will be before many days. I benefited 
much by your labours, as you will see. Your last line to the 
Satan sonnet I adopted with a slight change, but am rather 
uncertain whether I may not change back again. What you 
said of the foggy opening of Nocturn induced me to restore 
a second stanza which I had cut out in printing it, in case 
this might make things any clearer. I have also added three 
new stanzas towards the close of this poem, to develop the 
sudden flight of the bogie on finding another bogie by the 
girl's bed, which seemed funkyish, though of course the right 
thing if she was already in love. I have also added three 
stanzas at the point I referred to in Stratton Water, and 
made the proposed restoration (with addition) to the Nineveh. 
Also added a further useful stanza in the middle of Sister 


I have cut out Mary in Snnivier, Son^ and iMusic, anci 


the Italian thing, about which I am sorry you should have 
taken certainly more trouble than it deserved. 

I await your opinion about Sisters Sleep. I have sent 
to be inserted one new sonnet, two more old ones revised, 
and an old poem, The Card Dealer, which I have divested 
of trivialities. 

About " Miching Mallecho," I must say Keightley's ex- 
planation seems to me final, unless he has really quite made 
some mull of the language. Have you reason to think so ? 
Certainly the coincidence you have been struck by is very 
singular, and, failing Keightley, well worth following up. 
I suppose the name is not Longfellow's invention ? 


Have you heard of the death of poor little Burnell Payne 
after a few days' illness ? 

Love from all here. 

C 63. 

••' My brother thought much from time to time about his proposed 
poem The Orchard Pit (or, as he generally called it, The Orchard Pits). 
His prose synopsis of the subject, and a few verses which were to 
have formed part of the poem, are printed in his Collected Works. 
The other poem which he had now begun was, I think, The Stream's 
Secret., or possibly Eden Bower. The wombat was a specimen of 
that quaint Australian beast which had arrived at Gabriel's London 
house during his absence at Penkill Castle. 


Tuesday [14 September 1869]. 

My dear W , 

I suppose ere this you have doubtless got the new 
proofs of which I received a set yesterday. You will see 
much that is due to your labours in them. However, I have 
been at work on them still further now, and have done 
various things. I have revised the additional verses to 
Stratton Water, which were rather in the rough, and have 
added one further on about the priest in a funk. In the 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 869. 21 5 

additional verses to Noctmni I have made the following change 
in the third, which now runs : — 

" So a chief who all night lies 

Ambushed where no help appears — 
'Mid his comrades' unseen eyes 
Watching for the growth of spears — 
Like their ghosts, as morning nears, 

Sees them rise, 
Ready without sighs or tears." 

I think you will agree with me that this is preferable, as in 

the first form the plural pronouns applied to " legion " were 

awkward . 

However, I have been worrying about what you said of 

the obscurity of the opening of this poem, and have now put 

it thus : — 

" Master of the murmuring courts 

Where the shapes of sleep convene ! 
Lo ! my spirit here exhorts 

All the powers of thy demesne 
For their aid to woo my queen. 

What reports 
Yield thy jealous courts unseen? 

" Vaporous, unaccountable, 

Dreamland lies unknown to light, 
Hollow like a breathing shell. 
Ah that from all dreams I might 
Choose one dream and guide its flight ! 

I know well 
What her sleep should tell to-night." 

Surely this makes all plain, does it not ? Dreamland is a 
rather hackneyed phrase I don't like, but it is so valuable 
for clearing up that I adopted it. 

Now there is another question. The first conception of 
this poem was of a man not yet in love who dreams vaguely 
of a woman who he thinks must exist for him. This is not 
very plainly expressed, and not I think very valuable, and 
it might be better to refer the love to a known woman whom 
he wishes to approach. There is only one stanza I think 
that stands in the way of this interpretation, — the one be- 


ginning " As since man waxed deathly wise " ; and I want 
your opinion as to whether it would not be better to cut 
this stanza out. It is a good one, but is rather objectionable 
as resembling in its rhymes the penultimate preceding one. 
I think it should go. Another slight point. The fourth 
stanza used to say : — 

" Youth's warm fancies all are there : 
There the elf-girls flood with wings 
Valleys full of plaintive air," etc. 

This perhaps flows better, and I have just noticed that in 
the present version there is " whisperings " rhyming with 
" rings," which is bad. But on the other hand I like the new 
meaning best. What is your view ? 

You will have noticed another new stanza in Sister Helen 
— " But he calls for ever on your name," etc^ This is 
valuable for elucidation. However, I have improved both 
this and stanza i. 


In Penumbra I have altered in last stanza " rasp the sands " 
to "chafe." The other seemed violent and inexact. In 
sonnet A Dark Day — "sowed hunger oncel' — ^ believe this 
used to stand since. Which is better ? 

In Mary's Giidhood — " This is," etc. Could one say as well 
— "'T'zj of that blessed" etc.? In Palmifera sonnet there is 
" This is that Lady Beauty " ; and I think the same form 
is elsewhere. 

Venus sonnet has — " She hath the apple in " etc. Now 
" apple " is here placed awkwardly between two vowels, which 
makes the prosody dubious. Does any change suggest itself? 

In the new sonnet. Parted Love, the last line is declared by 
Scott to be too violent. Do you think so ? It occurs to me 
to say, " And thy feet stir not, and thy body endures." Do 
you like this better ? It conveys the sense of impotent reten- 
tion, which is wanted, but that is already conveyed in line 
seven. You will observe that I have now included two old 
sonnets, Autumn Idleness and A Match with the Moon. The 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 869. 21'] 

first as now revised I like well. The second I like too, but 
do you think it lays itself open to ridicule ? 

The Card Dealer you will find improved, I doubt not. 

I am now sending the printer seven new sonnets, of which 
four are for designs of mine — viz., two for Cassandra, one for 
Passover, and one for Magdalene. I think this may help me 
in defending the subjects against plagiarists. I think all are 
very good. I have also begun two new poems. One, called 
The Orchard Pit, will be my best thing ; but I have not 
yet got much beyond a careful synopsis in prose, which I 
consider a very good plan of action. I shall certainly go 
on and finish it as soon as may be, as I feel great confidence 
in it. The other I have done rather more to. I find this 
place most favourable to writing, and should soon get into 
very regular habits of production. 

However, I had determined to leave here next Thursday, 
but find so much more benefit within the last few days than 
before that I may perhaps stay on till Tuesday next, on 
which day I certainly expect to start homeward, but may 
be detained a day with Miss Losh. I have felt far from 

well till just now, but am now feeling better. 

* * * -* % % 

I was nearly forgetting the Italian poem, which I had put 
pretty well out of my head. I sent it to Teodorico, and 
enclose you his answer and new version, which no doubt you 
will think with me rather modern and loaded. I cannot 
gather clearly that he objects on grounds of prosody other 
than what may be said to depend on taste. If you see him, 
you might discuss the point. I must answer his letter. Of 
course if I print the thing it must be as I wrote it, or nearly 
so. Should a version resulting from mine and his occur to 
you, I would be obliged by your sending it me. I am sick 
of the affair. 

With love to all. 

Your affectionate 


Have you seen the wombat? 


C 64. 

"The sea must remain at Nazareth." This refers to a passage 
in the poem Ave : I had pointed out to my brother that Nazareth 
is far distant from any sea. The passage about Mr. Scott and 
Durer refers to the proofs, which I was about this time looking 
over, of our friend's Life of Durer. " The Shrine in the Italian 
taste " which Christina had reared for the wombat consisted of 
certain verses in the Italian language. 


Wednesday [15 September 1869]. 

Dear W , 

I may as well answer one or two points in your letter. 
Page 24. I fear the sea must remain at Nazareth ; you 
know an old painter would have made no bones if he wanted 
it for his background. The lines following this I have 
altered now. 


I have made a change in the Hill Summit (page 141) 
thus : — 

"And, now that I have climbed and won this height, 
I must tread downward through the sloping shade, 
And travel the bewildered tracks till night. 

Yet for this hour I still may here be stayed," etc. 

The symbolism being thus more distinct than before, do 
you not think this sonnet should properly be transferred to 
the House of Life section ? 

I am in a rather productive mood, and have written two 
sonnets since writing to you yesterday. For one of the 
Cassandra ones, I want to know whether Achilles killed 
Hector with a sword or a spear. Will you look this up ? or 
perhaps you know. 

Scott wanted me to tell you that you were to keep back 
a certain proof of his where a newly-discovered Durer 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1869. 219 

picture should be described, till he hears whether it is genuine 
or not. 

Will you thank Maggie for her most complete information 
about the Passover ? Also Christina for the Shrine in the 
Italian taste which she has reared for the wombat. I fear 
his habits tend inveterately to drain-architecture. I wrote 
for directions about his food to Nettleship, who is always at 
the Zoo, and he has sent me some. It appears the wombat 
follows people all over the house ! 

About the Byron business, I certainly think I have 

heard allude to the connexion with his sister. / also 

thought at first there could be no doubt, but am very un- 
certain now. It seems to me by no means impossible that 
Lady Byron laboured under a hallucination on this subject ; 
and that, even if she did rear an illegitimate child of Byron's, 
this particular attribution of its birth may have been her own 
inveterate fancy. The question of relationship raised in the 
Times is well worth considering also. Did you see a letter 
by a man named Radclyffe in the Telegraph (I think) ? He 
was brought up by Mrs. Leigh, and speaks in the most 
reverential terms of her, — employing I must say a rather Irish 
style of phraseology. It has been sent here, and, if you have 
not seen it, I can look it up for you. 

(P.S.— I send it.) 

Lastly . . . the vital interest of his poetry is all we have 
to do with. 



P.S.— Scott agrees, especially with the last sentiment. 
, I saw a letter from W. Howitt in one paper about Lady 
Byron's great obstinacy in fixed ideas. 

I still have rather a grudge to the three sonnets called 
The Choice. Do you feel sure they ought to be in ? Also 
to the two on Ingres's picture, which are merely picturesque, 
and which stupid people are sure to like better than better 



[16 Cheyne Walk.] 
Tuesday [21 September 1869]. 

Dear William, 

I came back last night, and shall of course be seeing 
you immediately ; but write lest you should write again to 

Your last letter has already been sent back to me here. 
I wrote some more poetry, and one Ballad, which is my best 
thing, I think— T^r^j Town. 

The Wombat is " A Joy, a Triumph, a Delight, a Madness." 
I have got Tinsley to-day. They treat you very respect- 
fully, but are obtuse about Mrs. Holmes Grey, which they 
discuss at great length. Perhaps you will have it. 

Your affectionate 


I have seen no one yet. 


Sunday [3 October 1869]. 

Dear W , 

Will you dine here Thursday ? I hope so. Nettleship 
and Brown are coming — also Tebbs. ... I hope you will 
manage to come. 

I suppose you have the proofs. I have improved a good 

many lines in the Edeti since seeing it in print. Also done 

other things to the proofs. 

* ***** 

C 67. 

13 October 1869. 

My dear William, 

I wished last night to speak to you on a subject which 
however I find it necessary to put in writing. I am very 
anxious to know your view of it, and to remind you before- 
hand that no mistrust or unbrotherly feeling could possibly 
Jiave caused my silence till now, 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1869. 221 

Various friends have long hinted from time to time at the 
possibility of recovering my lost MSS., and when I was in 
Scotland last year Scott particularly referred to it. Some 
months ago Howell of his own accord entered on the matter, 
and offered to take all the execution of it on himself. This 
for some time I still hung back from accepting ; but eventually 
I yielded, and the thing was done, after some obstacles, on 
Wednesday or Thursday last, I forget which. An order had 
first to be obtained from the Home Secretary, who strangely 
enough is an old and rather intimate acquaintance of my 
own — H. A. Bruce. . . . All in the coffin was found quite 
perfect ; but the book, though not in any way destroyed, is 
soaked through and through, and had to be still further 
saturated with disinfectants. It is now in the hands of the 
medical man who was associated with Howell in the disinter- 
ment, and who is carefully drying it leaf by leaf. There seems 
reason to fear that some minor portion is obliterated, but I 
most hope this may not prove to be the most important part. 
I shall not, I believe, be able to see it for at least a week yet. 

I trust you will not — but I know you cannot — think that I 
showed any want of confidence in not breaking this painful 
matter to you before its issue. It was a service I could not 
ask you to perform for me, nor do I know any one except 
Howell who could well have been entrusted with such a trying 
task. It was necessary, as we found, that a lawyer should be 
employed in the matter, to speak to the real nature of the 
MSS., as difficulties were raised to the last by the Cemetery 
Authorities as to their possibly being papers the removal of 
which involved a fraud. 

C 68. 

Friday [i5 October 1869]. 

Dear William, 

I am glad to hear you are getting better, and very 

glad you view the matter on which I wrote as I do. 
* * * * * # 


Yesterday I went to see the book at the Doctor's house. 
It will take some days yet to dry, and is in a disappointing 
but not hopeless state. 

' Your affectionate 


P.S. — You know I always meant to dedicate the book to 
you. This I shall of course still do. 

C 69. 

De^R W- 

Wednesday [20 October 1869]. 

Could you dine here Sunday ? One or two fellows are 
coming, and I would esteem it a boon if you could come. 
I hope you are better. I got the MSS. to-day. 

C 70. . 

The binding here referred to was to have been for the edition of 

Shelley, two volumes, which I brought out through the Moxon Firm 

at the beginning of 1870. The design was regarded by the Firm as 

involving over-much cost in execution, and nothing came of it. I 

have quite forgotten now what it was like. 

[16 Cheyne Walk.] 
Wednesday [i December 1869]. 

Dear William, 

In setting Dunn to work at your binding to-day, I 

find I need the exact size. If you will send it me by return 

of post, I dare say I shall be able to let you have the thing 

on Saturday, or Monday at latest. The colour could not be 

better than that apple-green roan ; but, if they won't take the 

trouble of staining the cloth to this, let the binder send me 

his patterns and I will choose a grey of some sort. I remember 

to have seen a sort of dull indigo-grey once which is not a 

bad colour. 

* # * * ' * * 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1870. 223 

B 49. 
Commonplace and Other Short Stories^ prose, is a volume by 
Christina, now perhaps not very readily procurable : it was not a 
success with the public. As yet it was only in MS. The article 
in the Pall Mall Gazette related to my edition of Shelley, with 
Memoir. — It will be seen from this letter that the idea, hitherto 
generally put forward, that my brother's poem The Streanis Secret 
was written wholly at Penkill, is far from correct. 


Tuesday [22 Maixh 1870]. 

My dear Mother, 

Will you thank Christina for the arrival this morning 
of Connnonplace, which I already like the looks of? Also 
thanks to yourself for the Pall Mall article, which I will 
return shortly. It is of course the best I have yet seen. 
Among the fault-findings as to points of expression at the 
end, I rather agree with some, but not with others ; notably 
not with that about the closing sentence of the Memoir, to 
which I see no objection — though it certainly belongs, in 
legitimate measure, to the class of expression which the 
Yankees have vulgarized by hyperbole. 

I should, as you may suppose, have written before this in 
answer to yours, if I had been able to give any very favour- 
able account of myself, but I am not very brilliant. I suppose 
I may perhaps stay a fortnight longer. Stillman is a very 
pleasant and kindly companion, never obtrusive and always 
helpful. . . . His little boy is, I fear, not for this world. 

I have written just a sheet of additions to my book since 
I came here, and it is now printing — to wit, a poem called 
The Stream's Secret, of which 1 had a few opening stanzas 
already done, and a few additional sonnets. I shall certainly 
get the book out before the end of April, as three or four 
friendly hands are already at work on it for the May 
periodicals. Swinburne is to do it in the Fo7'tnightly . . . . 
The binding is in progress, and will I hope be a success. . . . 

God bless you, dear old darling, is the heartfelt prayer of 

Your most affectionate Son, 



F 8. 

Miss Boyd, whatever the reason, did not actually produce any 
designs engraved as woodcuts in the Commonplace volume : there 
are not any illustrations. 


Wednesday [23 March 1870]. 

Dear Christina, 

I have read Commonplace (which I return by bookpost), 
and like it very much. It certainly is not dangerously excit- 
ing to the nervous system, but it is far from being dull for all 
that, and I should think it likely to take. Stillman and I 
noted one or two trifles on the opposite blank pages for your 
consideration — mere trifles. He likes it much also. 

I return the MS. by bookpost. No doubt Ellis will be very 
glad to have it as soon as you can let him. I am glad 
Miss Boyd is to do the woodcuts. 

Your affectionate 


P.S. — Of course I think your proper business is to write 
poetry, and not Commonplaces. 

P.P.S. — You will be sorry to learn that I hear from Boulogne 
to-day that old Maenza is dead, just as he was thinking of 
making a move towards Italy. His poor old wife is of course 
in a sad state. If any of you would like to write condolences, 
the address is 19 Rue Simoneau, Boulogne-sur-Mer. She did 
not write to me herself, but a certain Neapolitan music-master 
named Siesto, whom I remember there centuries ago, and 
whose feelings are expressed in three notes of admiration at 
a time. 

B 50. 

" My large picture " is the Dante's Dream, now belonging to the 
Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool. " Janey Morris " is Mrs. William 
Morris : to her highly distinguished husband the nickname " Top " 
(oftener " Topsy ") had clung ever since his uhder-graduate days in 


Oxford. " The Nortons " are Professor Charles Eb'ot Norton, a well- 
known and much-esteemed American man of letters, and his family. 


Monday [18 April 1870]. 

My dearest Mother, 

I have not written to you for an age, but have been 
meaning to do so, only things did not look promising enough 
to be worth talking about. However, for the last few days 
this glorious weather seems to be doing me good in some 
ways at any rate. It is impossible not to feel a different 
being when such a change is going on all round one. But 
indeed I have improved for some time past in one essential 
respect — i.e. that the pains I had constantly in the eyes and 
head have almost entirely left me,— quite so indeed but for 
a very slight and occasional twinge. I have been drawing 
regularly, though not many hours, for several days, and am 
beginning to feel more cheerful. The air is delicious — the 
weather very hot just now while the sun lasts, but exquisitely 
cool in the evenings. I send you specimens of the wild 
flowers which are all out in immense profusion everywhere ; 
as to the primroses, the country is already smothered in them. 
The white violets came in a swarm, and are now almost gone. 
The blue ones are everywhere now, and the wood-anemones, 
of which I send a few, are most delightful, as well as the wild 
daffodils. Lambs have tails, and begin to prance a little. 
They and their mothers make various toy-noises, only the 
mothers' are penny noises, and the lambs' halfpenny ones. 

I find Mme. B[odichon] will need this place after the 7th, 
but I may possibly stay on till nearly that time if I can 
manage it. My book is to be out by the end of next week, 
and perhaps I shall have to come up then for a day. 

Things are not quite idle with me in London, as regards 
work ; since Dunn is grouping the studies for my large picture 
together, so that it will be ready for mc to begin on the 
moment I return. 

Janey Morris is here, and benefiting greatly. Top comes 
from time to time. I have an invitation to go to Florence 

VOL. IL 15 


to the Nortons, and fancy I might be wise to accept it, but 
time is an anxious matter. Would William go if I did ? 
With love to all, 

Your most affectionate Son, 


B 51. 


4 May 1870. 

Dear old Darling of 70, 

I ought to have put in the book I sent you that it was 
a birthday present. I did not forget the dear day (27 April), 
only forgot the inscription. I hope you liked the binding, 
which I think very successful ; only the back of the pattern 
has been made too wide, which renders a ridiculous padding 
of blank paper necessary inside. This will be remedied in 
the second edition by having the back part recut. Also the 
fly-leaves will be printed on a greenish paper. At present 
they look raw. You will be glad to hear that the first 
edition is almost exhausted, and that Ellis is going to press 
with the second thousand copies. There are going to be a 
few special copies printed on large paper, of which I shall 
get one for you. I was in town for a few hours only last 
Tuesday week in order to inscribe copies at the publisher's, 
but returned here in the afternoon. I expect probably to 
come back for good, or at any rate for the present, early 
next week. But I believe nothing would do me so much 
good, if I could make it convenient, as to bring work down 
and spend the summer in this neighbourhood, so as to get 
out in good air whenever I pleased. There is a lovely old 
mansion near here in which I could rent a set of rooms which 
would do well to paint in, and I have serious thoughts of it ; 
but in any case I should have to return to London at present, 
to start fair with my painting and see what I should be going 
on with. 

I dare say you have seen the reviews of my book in Pall 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1870. 22/ 

Mall, Fraser, Athenceum, etc., and been duly thunderstruck 
at Swinburne's miraculous article. 

I am wonderfully better within the last month — specially 
last fortnight, and have no doubt I am really benefited in 
every way, but London might bring on a relapse for all 

Janey Morris is much better. Top is coming down again 
to-day, and we shall make some more excursions probably, 
as there are various things worth seeing. 

My book will have brought me ;^300 in less than a month, 
which is not so bad for poetry, particularly if it goes on. 
Love to all. 

A 25. 

16 Cheyne Walk. 

24 May 1870. 

My dear Aunt, 

I just hear from Mamma, with a pang of remorse, 
that you have ordered a copy of my Poems. You may be 
sure I did not fail to think of you when I inscribed copies 
to friends and relatives ; but, to speak frankly, I was deterred 
from sending it to you by the fact of the book including one 
poem {Jenny) of which I felt uncertain whether you would 
be pleased with it. I am not ashamed of having written it 
(indeed I assure you that I would never have written it if 
I thought it unfit to be read with good results) ; but I feared 
it might startle you somewhat, and so put off sending you 
the book. I now do so by this post, and hope that some if 
not all of the pieces may be quite to your taste. Indeed, I 
hope that even Jenny may be so, for my mother likes it on 
the whole the best in the volume, after some consideration. 

I dare say you have heard, from that only too partial 
quarter, of the commercial success of the book. The first 
thousand sold in little more than a week is not amiss for 
poetry. The second edition is now out, and I have already 
received ^300 for my share of the profits. Of course it will 
not go on like this for ever, but perhaps a quiet steady sale 


may be hoped to go on. I am now about to re-publish my 
book of the Early Italian Poets, as perhaps a new edition 
may profit by the luck of the other book. 

I hope you are well, and that it may not be long before 
we meet. 

C 71. 

I did not review the volume of poems by Dr. Hake here referred 
to : I think Dr. Francis (or Franz) Hueffer did so. 

Thursday \i2 January 1871]. 

Dear William, 

I'm sending you Hake's book as by his request, and 
no doubt he would be very glad if you could do something 
for it. However, I believe Hueffer is disposed to do it for 
the Academy, if you do not. Hake, in writing to me, says : 
" I am almost afraid to ask it, but do you think Miss Rossetti 
would read Madeline? The impression it made on a lady 
of acute mind it would be interesting to know. ..." I dare 
say Christina would like to oblige him. ... If she liked to 
look through the book. Old Souls would certainly please her, 
and I think the others in that section, and probably much of 
the Epitaph ; and, if she liked to write me her views, T would 
send to Hake. 

B 52. 

II d clock Tuesday night. \2.\ January 1871]. 

Dearest Darling, 

I am afraid you must have been expecting me to-night, 
and 1 fully meant to come, having indeed put off my usual 
Tuesday evening appointment with the Scotts for that pur- 
pose, as I had been to my vexation so long without seeing 
you. But quite unintentionally I got fidgeting at a perplex- 
ing piece of work after dinner, and suddenly found it was 
too late to reach Euston Square with any good chance of 
seeing you. I then took a walk, -and returned after all to the 
Scotts — only to find them gone to you — so the whole thing 
was a contretemps. 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 8/ 1. 229 

I now fear I can't get to you till Thursday, but then hope 
to come without fail in time to see your dear loving face. 
My evenings are so much taken up at present that I get to 
you much less often than I should wish; but believe/dearest 
Mother, that you are very often in my mind when I am 
away from you. I have been blessed with your love so 
long that I could imagine no good world, here or elsewhere, 
without it; and I blame myself a thousand times for the 
many days that pass me without my seeing you. 

As soon as the weather is better again we must get together 
our family party here which had to be given up on New Year's 
Day. Your presence here seems to bring with it always the 
peace and rest which are often too long away. 

C 72. 

The library in Florence which Mr. F. S. Ellis was preparing to 
buy was that of the Barone Seymour Kirkup— the English artist 
who recovered the portrait of Dante by Giotto in the Bargello, and 
from of old an esteemed correspondent of our Father. It was a rich 
collection, chiefly of old Italian literature. This is the same Mr. 
Ellis who has lately (1894) produced a very spirited verse-rendering 
of Reynard the Fox. 

Monday [6 March 1871]. 

Dear W , 

Ellis is going to Florence in a hurry to see about 
buying old Kirkup's books, which Kirkup has resolved to sell 
owing to his changing quarters. He has already had some 
correspondence with Kirkup about it through a third person, 
and Kirkup expects him ; but Ellis would like much to have 
a note of introduction from you, introducing him as a friend 
of ours. He is to take Kirkup my book, which it seems 
never got sent owing to ignorance of address, though I 
thought I had given it. 

Ellis starts on Wednesday. Could you send him a note 
for the purpose by then to 33 King St. ? ... He thinks the 
books will prove a good affair. 


B 53- 

TJuii'sday night orj April 1871. 

My dearest Mother, 

I did not reflect, when I saw you to-day, that it was 
your birthday, though I have been thinking of it often before 
in the course of this month, and promising myself for certain 
to go and see you then if not before ; remembering how this 
day once provided, for four children yet to be, the dearest 
and best of mothers. It makes me very unhappy to think 
that extreme worry with my work for a week or so past has 
put this intention to flight, and even found me oblivious of 
the anniversary when I saw your dear face to-day. It was a 
wretched thing to be prevented from benefiting by your visit, 
and it leaves a painful impression on my mind to remember 
that such a thing should have occurred just to-day. I must 
have seemed very neglectful lately in not coming to see you ; 
but daily I find my work pushes the day on, and leaves me 
so weary that I am unable to start out anywhere till too late 
to reach Euston Square before your bedtime. In a day or 
two now I shall be somewhat less taken up, and then trust 
to see you without fail, and to try and get you to pay me 
another visit. I was very sorry also to miss Maria, who is so 
seldom able to come. 

With all truest love and every heartfelt wish for you to-day, 
my dearest Mother, 

I am your most affectionate Son, 


C 73- 

This note replies to one in which I had conveyed to my brother 
an invitation to contribute to some magazine : it must have been The 
Dark Blue, which ran a brief course. Christina had a long, severe, 
and often alarming illness, beginning in the spring of 1871, and 
lasting three or four years : it is referred to in this note, and in some 

" The design for Maggie's binding ' was a design which I had 
made for the binding of our sister Maria's book, A Shadoiv of Dante, 


My brother put the sketch into some presentable shape ; and Mr. 
Dunn made the elegantly executed drawings from which the binders 

Friday [12 May 1871]. 

My dear William, 

I don't care about contributing to magazines. It takes 
the freshness off one's work when collected. 

I'm delighted to hear of Christina's improvement. I fear 
I may not be able conveniently to get round till Sunday 
evening ; so, if there is any increased anxiety on her account, 
pray let me know, that I may look in to-morrow. 

The design for Maggie's binding is coming on very nicely, 
and I shall bring it, I do not doubt, when I come next. 

B 54- 
" Forman's book " is Our Living Poets, by Mr. H. Buxton Forman. 
The picture upon which my brother was now working was the large 
Dante's Dream. Anthony was the very fine landscape-painter 
Mark Anthony, an old friend of Gabriel and myself. Christina, 
with our Mother, did about this time get off to Hampstead to 
recruit, but not, I think, through Mr. Anthony's agency. 

Thursday [29 Jn?!e 1871]. 

Dear Mamma, 

I was sorry to take away Forman's book the other night, 
in case you had not done with it ; but it belonged to Scott, 
and he wanted it back, to take with him to Penkill. As two 
of your babes figure in it, perhaps it might be a welcome 
possession to you ; so I have asked Ellis to get a copy, and 
send it to you, and, when I am next in Euston Square, I will 
write your dear name in it. 

I cannot say how sorry and vexed I am at never seeing 
you just now. But the fact is that my work at present is 
almost always standing-work, as I have to go back constantly 
to look at the effect ; and I am so tired by dusk that, if I do 
not wait an hour or two to rest before going out, I am obliged 
to take a cab, and sacrifice my walk — without which I am 
done for. Thus I seldom get out till after nine, or sometimes 


(as this evening) even after ten, and then it is no use coming 
to see you. However, in the course of an evening or two 
now I hope to do so without fail. I do not expect to get into 
the country till after next week at any rate. I do hope to do 
so then, and that the weather may be settled enough to make 
it worth while going. 

I suppose Christina will get away soon. If you like, I 
could write to Anthony at Hampstead to try to find lodgings 
on the Heath, as he knows the place well. I spoke of Dr. 
Hake at Roehampton to Maria, as I feel sure he would be 
delighted to receive you and Christina in the rooms he has 
set apart for me ; but I understand from William that this 
seems to you to involve some awkwardness. 

Goodbye, dear darling. I am going out now for a walk, 
and then home to bed. 

C 74. . 

Sunday [2 July 1871]. 

Whitley Stokes has come from India, and stays only a 
very short time in London. He is to dine with me Wednesday 
at 7. I hope you can come, as I am sure he would like to 
see you again. 

C 75- 
My " American Selection " forms a volume in the series Moxon's 
Popidar Poets. The writer to whom my brother refers was the 
actress Adah Isaacs Menken. He did not write the brief notice of 
her which appears in the volume. , 

Monday [3 July 1871]. 

Dear W , 

I forgot till this moment that your American Selection 
ought certainly, I think, to contain som.e specimens of poor 
Menken. I have her book, which is really remarkable. If 
there is still time to introduce them, I would mark the copy 
for extract, and write some short notice to precede them, to 
save you trouble, as I know the book. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 87 1. 233 

1 may probably look in to-night, but have been so often 
prevented that I write this. 

C 76. 

Purnell, here mentioned, was the well-known writer Thomas 

Purnell. This note contains the first reference to the country house, 

the Manor House at Kelmscott, which my brother rented for some 

years jointly with Mr. Morris. Miss Menken's epitaph was "Thou 


[16 Cheyne Walk.] 
Monday [16 Jiilv 1871]. 

Dear W , 

To my surprise I cannot find my Menken's Poems 
anywhere. So I send you on a letter and notice received 
from Purnell, and am writing to him to get a copy sent to you. 

My own impression is that much the best piece in the book 
is one called (I think) Answer Me ; though I remember 
finding that some points of it were much better than others, 
and should have been inclined only to print the good stanzas, 
which make a fine poem enough by themselves ; but I don't 
know if such plan would suit you. There is also a short 
rhymed poem which is remarkable, called I think Ambition, 
or something of that sort, but it is defective of a line some- 
where — accidental omission, I suppose. These two, I remem- 
ber, are clearly the best. However, there are one or two 
others I had marked, but my copy seems nowhere. One of 
the most characteristic is that about " Angels, sweep the 
leaves from my door." 

I am obliged to hand the matter over to you, in the absence 
of the book, as I leave town to-morrow afternoon. My 
country address is 

The Manor House 

Love to all. 

Your affectionate 



Purnell told me that she was buried in a shabby way first 
at Paris ; but that her husband Kerr afterwards sent iJ^200, 
and that she was reinterred more honourably, and her own 
epitaph (quite sublime, I think) put over her. 

B 55- 
Allan and Emma were Gabriel's servants at Cheyne Walk— Allan 
having previously been in the army. 

The Manor House, Kelmscott, Lechlade. 

17 Jjily 1871, 

My dearest Mother, 

I have been here since last Wednesday, and am already 
greatly benefiting by the change. This house and its sur- 
roundings are the loveliest " haunt of ancient peace " that can 
well be imagined — the house purely Elizabethan in character, 
though it may probably not be so old as that ; but in this dozy 
neighbourhood that style of building seems to have obtained 
for long after changes in fashion had occurred elsewhere. It 
has a quantity of farm-buildings of the thatched squatted 
order, which look settled down into a purring state of comfort, 
but seem (as Janey said the other day) as if, were you to stroke 
them, they would move. Janey is here with her children, and 
she is benefiting wonderfully, and takes long walks as easily 
as I do. The children are dear little things — perfectly natural 
and intelligent, and able to amuse themselves all day long 
without needing to be thought about by their elders. The 
younger one — Mary, or May as she is called — is most lovely ; 
the elder interesting also. I mean to make drawings of both 
while I remain here. Allan and Emma have both come 
down, and the children's nurse is here ; besides which, there 
are two " native " servants. 

My studio here is a delightful room, all hung round with 
old tapestry, which I suppose has been here since the date of 
its making. It gives in grim sequence the history of Samson, 
and is certainly not the liveliest of company. Indeed, the 
speculation as to the meaning of incredible passages of dra\y- 


ing and detail becomes after a time so wearisome, and is so 
unavoidable whatever one's train of thought, that I should 
cover it all up if I knew how. To take it down would not 
do, as it might go to pieces or get moth-eaten. 

I hope you will see this lovely old place some time when 
it is got quite into order, and I am sure it will fill you 
with admiration. The garden is a perfect paradise, and the 
whole is built on the very banks of the Thames, along which 
there are beautiful walks for miles, though just at this 
moment the floods rather interfere with their enjoyment. 
Other walks all round the neighbourhood are of course 
plentiful, and the nearest town, Lechlade (three miles off), 
is a most beautiful old town (no Station) ; but on the whole 
the flatness of the country, being absolute, renders its aspect 
rather wanting in variety and interest. As for solitude, it is 
as complete as even at Penkill. 

A lot of furniture and conveniences have been got into the 
place, and order increases daily. This house has never been 
inhabited but by the family that built it in old times (named 
Turner), the last surviving member of which, an old lady, 
lately gave up residing in it on the death of her husband, 
which caused it to be let. 

While I remain here I am having great alterations made in 
my studio in London, which I have always contemplated, and 
which my friend Webb the architect will superintend. By 
this means I shall henceforth have a quite satisfactory light. 
Otherwise I should really have been obliged to carry my big 
picture elsewhere, to do the little that remains to do to it 
on my return, as I never could get a real view of it in 
any part of the room ; and this evil would of course have 
renewed itself with every large work I might paint in the 

I am having my painting-things sent down here, and shall 
do some leisurely work while I remain, which will be I 
suppose for two months at least. 

I trust you and Christina are both feeling the advantage 
of Hampstead air, and that C[hristina] is able by this time 


to get about pretty well. Of course I need not say how glad 
I shall be of some news of you in these wilds. 
With best love to both, 

I am your most affectionate Son, 


C 77- 

A public movement had been started in Italy with a view to 
removing to the Florentine Church of Santa Croce from Highgate 
Cemetery the remains of our Father, as a national patriotic poet : my 
brother was mainly in favour of the project, but not the other 
members of the family, and the proposal was not carried out. 
Knight is Mr. Joseph Knight the dramatic critic, a hearty friend 
of my brother's, now his biographer. I was intending about this 
time to go off on a brief Italian trip. 

The Manor House, Kelmscott, Lechlade. 

[17 July 1871.] 

Dear W , 

I have mislaid a letter of Maria's containing Mamma's 
address at Hampstead, so must ask you to send on the 
enclosed. You might write me any news there is, for this 
is the abode of silence. It is wonderfully beautiful as to house 
and surroundings, but rather monotonous when further afield. 
Did you get Menken from Purnell, and do the notice and 
extracts ? 

How is the Shadozv of Dante getting on ? While I stay 
here I am having a radical alteration made in my studio at 
Cheyne Walk, which will improve the light enormously. 
I expect to be away some two months, but may perhaps be 
back for a day or so at the end of the first month, to see what 
is doing to my studio, etc. 

Looking at the Athenceum Gossip to-day, it struck me it 
might be to the credit of our Father to record the proposal 
to remove his remains to Italy. Do you like to notify this 
to Furnivall ? Or I or you might do so to Knight. 

When do you leave London yourself? 


A 26. 

The Manor House, Kelmscott, Lechlade. 

4 August 1 87 1. 

My dear Aunt, 

I am very sorry to have omitted answering your note 
the moment I got it, as it somehow since escaped my memory 
till now. However, I cannot say much to the purpose, as I 
(like most artists) am quite ignorant about picture-cleaning, 
further than the obvious plan of removing outside dirt with 
soap and water. To deal with a picture safely is no easy 
matter, nor should a work of any value be entrusted to every 
one. If care is worth while in the case you allude to, a safe 
person to go to is Mr. Merritt, who works a good deal for the 
National Gallery. His charges (he lately cleaned an old 
picture for me) are not low, but not immoderate, and he is 
really capable. His address is H. Merritt Esq., 54 Devon- 
shire Street, Portland Place. — I am sorry I cannot be of more 
direct use. 

You will see by my address that I have left town, having 
taken, jointly with the Morrises, a share in this very nice old 
house — as good and genuine a specimen of old middle-class 
architecture as could be found anywhere. I suppose its aspect 
is absolutely Elizabethan in every respect, but it is probably 
a century later. ... I have been here over three weeks now, 
and shall probably stay some six weeks longer. 

B 56. 

" That Beatrice picture " is the painting which my brother named 
at first The Death of Beatrice, or The Dying Beatrice, afterwards 
Beata Beatrix : this is more accurate, as the subject is not strictly 
the death of Beatrice, but Beatrice in a trance ominous of death. 
The original picture, in which the head had been painted from 
Gabriel's wife (chiefly or entirely as a reminiscence after her death), 
belonged to Lord Mount-Temple, and is now in the National 
Gallery ; the duplicate had been commissioned by Mr. WilHam 
Graham, then M.P. for Glasgow. He died in July 1885. 


The Manor House, Kelmscott, Lechlade. 

II August 1 87 1. 

My DEAREST Mother, 

You see I have dated this letter, as you told me you 
liked dates. I am afraid there is no reason for writing in 
these stagnant surroundings except the somewhat phantasmal 
one (I trust) of the fear lest you should seem to be out of 
mind with me if I were silent. The heat here is now exces- 
sive — so great indeed that walking even at the close of 
day is no pleasure, and one is tempted to keep indoors 
altogether. However, I yesterday evening strolled out after 
dinner when the sun was quite gone, and found it cool and 
delightful, so I think I shall time my walks chiefly so at 
present ; only the twilights are very short and there is no 
moon now, and walking in pitch darkness is not pleasant. 
I have been painting pretty steadily lately here, and getting 
through a duplicate of that Beatrice picture — dreary work 
enough. 1 am also beginning a little picture of Janey with 
a river background which will come nicely, I think, and am 
drawing the children too, who are dear little things, particularly 
the younger one, — she is destined moreover to be a great 
beauty beyond question. I have written a few small things, 
and will copy one out for you, to send with this letter and 
make up a little for want of news. I hope you and Christina 
both thrive ; of Maria I have no doubt on that score, and am 
very glad she is with you, as I am sure she needs change. 
I think her book will make a very good appearance — even 
the frontispiece looking satisfactory enough at last — and am 
anxious to have a complete copy in my hands. 

I rather expect to stay here even as much as two months 
longer, as the people who were to alter my studio-windows 
at Chelsea in my absence (of which I think I told you) are 
so dilatory that T am not sure whether the work is even yet 
well begun. Morris is expected here in about a month now, 
—doubtless with wonderful tales of Iceland ; for what is the 
use of going there if you are not allowed to make people stare 
well when you come back ? An Icelandic paper which he 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 8; I. 239 

sent reporting his arrival describes him as " Wm. Morris, 

The Browns, as you probably know, went for a month to 
Lynmouth, but are now returned to Fitzroy Square. With 
them went Hueffer, and William's favourite Miss Mathilde 
Blind, who by lucky accident unearthed there some old 
woman who had known Shelley and his first wife Harriet 
when they were staying at the place, and had all sorts of 
funny things to tell about them, all of which Miss Blind has 
written in a letter to William. 

Will you thank Maria for her letter in answer to mine ? . . . 

Did you see that a Miss Rossetti, " young and beautiful " 
and apparently Irish, has come out successfully as a concert- 
singer in London ? I wonder who her father may have been. 
Perhaps however the name is merely assumed, as an Italian 
one ready to hand. 

As I have absolutely no more news, I fear, I will proceed 
to copy a few verses suggested by the river here instead, and, 
with love to all, remain 

Your most affectionate Son, 


the river's record. 

Between Holmscote and Hurstcote 

The river-reaches wind, 
The whispering trees accept the breeze, 

The ripple's cool and kind : 
With love low-whispered 'twixt the shores, 

With rippling laughters gay. 
With white arms bared to ply the oars, 

On last year's first of May. 

Between Holmscote and Hurstcote 

The river's brimmed with rain, 
Through close-met banks and parted banks 

Now near, now far again : 
With parting tears caressed to smiles, 

With meeting promised soon, 
With every sweet vow that beguiles, 

On last year's first of June. 


Between Holmscote and Hurstcote 

The river's flecked with foam, 
'Neath shuddering clouds that hang in shrouds 

And lost winds wild for home : 
With infant wailings at the breast, 

With homeless steps astray. 
With wanderings shuddering tow'rds one rest. 

On this year's first of May. 

Between Holmscote and Hurstcote 

The summer river flows 
With doubled flight of moons b}^ night 

And lilies' deep repose : 
With lo beneath the moon's white stare 

A white face not the moon, 
With lilies meshed in tangled hair, 

On this year's first of June. 

Between Holmscote and Hurstcote 

A troth was given and riven, 
From heart's trust grew one life to two, 

Two lost lives cry to Heaven : 
With banks spread calm to meet the sky, 

With meadows newly mowed, 
The harvest-paths of glad July, 

The sweet school-children's road. 

P.S. — I doubt not you will note in the above the intention 
to make the first half of each verse, expressing the landscape, 
tally with the second expressing the emotion, even to 
repetition of phrases. 

B 57. 

Sing-song is the volume of children's rhymes which our sister 
Christina was at this time preparing for publication. 

Priday [18 August 1871]. 

Dearest Darling, 

... I have now for some time been taking an acid 
medicine prescribed me by Bowman, and which is appeti- 
zing if taken before meals, and (by my experience) more 
beneficial than anything else I had tried. 


I am glad Sing-song is going on nicely. Do you see that 
the AthencEu?n quite gratuitously announces a forthcoming 
volume of mine ? Who these very ultra-omniscient gossips 
may be I cannot conceive, but they are always at it with 
one person or another. 

Having no news in answer to your letter, I'll send you 
another little poem done from Nature. I don't know if you 
ever noticed the habit of starlings referred to, which is constant 
here at sunsets at this season of the year. 

I also have by me several French volumes of Tourguenieff, 
lent me by Ralston, and which I have been intending to 
read with much anticipated pleasure, yet have not hitherto 
done so to much purpose — the only piece I have read being 
Le Pain cCAtitrui, which I think quite admirable in its way. 
We read a vast deal of Shakespear aloud in the evenings here, 
and I also declaimed Browning's new poem Balaustion's 
Adventure one day on the lawn outside the house from first 
to last (of course with book) — a process lasting about an 
hour and a half. ... Of course it has its beauties ; but it 
consists chiefly of a translation of Euripides' Alcestis, inter- 
larded with Browningian analysis to an extent beyond all 
reason or relation to things by any possibility Greek in,, 
any way. 

I am reading also Walter Scott's St. Ronan's Well, which 
1 had never read, but which Morris had often recommended 
to me as one of his best ; which indeed I think it is so far as 
I have gone, — quite out of his usual way, more like a simple 
study of actual life, and with much more individual passion in 
the hero and heroine than that class of personage generally 
has with him. I dare say a Folkestone library or railway stall 
would easily furnish you the book, which I am sure you 
would like if new to you. 

We read Plutarch too, so at any rate our studies are not of 
an ephemeral order. 

I think a very fine play might be made of the Life of 
Pompey, which Shakespear has somehow left alone, though 
he seems to have given more perfecting labour to Roman 

VOL. n. 16 


subjects than to any. I suppose the most faultless by far of 
all his plays is Julius CcEsar. 

With love to all, 

Your most affectionate 


P.S. — I have not told you what beautiful old churches there 
are here. A famous one at Lechlade, in the churchyard of 
which Shelley wrote one of his poems ; but, still more interest- 
ing to me, one or two simple ones— the Kelmscott church as 
good as any — of the most primitive order, with two bells 
hanging visibly on the roof at one end — looking just as one 
fancies chapels in the Mort d' Artlmr, particularly from one 
side when one sees it above some wild-looking apple-trees. I 
shall certainly get it into some picture one day if I keep on 
coming here, 


To-night this Sunset spreads two golden wings 

Cleaving the western sky ; 
Winged too with wind it is, and vvinnowings 
Of birds ; as if the day's last hour in rings 

Of strenuous flight must die. 

Sun-steeped in fire, the homeward pinions sway 

Above the dovecote-tops ; 
And clouds of starlings, ere they rest with day, 
Sink, clamorous like mill-waters, at wild play 

By turns in every copse. 

Each tree heart-deep the wrangling rout receives, — 

Save for the whirr within, 
You could not tell the starlings from the leaves ; 
Then one great puff of wings, and the swarm heaves 

Away with all its din. 

Even thus Hope's hours, in ever-eddying flight, 

To many a refuge tend ; 
With the first light she laughed, and the last light 
Glows round her still ; who nathelesjs in the night 

At length must make an end. 


And now the mustering rooks innumerable 

Together sail and soar, 
While for the day's death, like a tolling knell, 
Unto the heart they seem to cry, " Farewell, 

No more, farewell, no more ! " 

Is Hope not plumed, as 'twere a fiery dart ? 

Therefore, O dying day, 
Even as thou goest must she too depart, 
And Sorrow fold such pinions on the heart 

As will not fly away. 

G 2. 

" The circle at Euston Square " consisted of our Mother our two 
sisters, and myself: the house, 56 Euston Square, being the same 
which was afterwards named 5 Endsleigh Gardens. 

The Italian verse-proverb quoted in this letter means : — 

" Who at twenty knows not 

Never will he know : 
Who at thirty does not 

Never will he do : 
Who at forty owns not 

Never will he own." 

The Manor House, Kelmscott, Lechlade. 

27 August 1 871. 

My DEAR Uncle, 

What you say of the rarity of our intercourse is but 
too true. However, you would be astounded to learn (if the 
facts could be conveyed to you) how little or nothing I see 
even of the oldest friends among whom I live in London, 
how seldom I meet the circle at Euston Square, and how 
absolutely every far-between excursion of mine is regulated 
by such work as I can do away from home. 

For instance, just now I have taken this house, in conjunc- 
tion with my friend Morris, as a means of establishing some 
country-quarters for work, where I can leave my belongings, 
and return to them as opportunity offers. When I came 
here some weeks ago I knew exactly the task I had to do, 
and surrounded myself with the means of doing it ; and, 


when it is done, it will be high time for me to return to other 
work in London. I am thus tedious about my own necessities, 
that I may not seem unthankful in saying that it is, to my 
regret, impracticable for me to transfer my quarters hence to 
Gloucester, near as I suppose I am to that city, — though how 
near exactly I do not know. I expect Morris here too on 
his return from travelling ; at present he is far enough away 
— in Iceland. His family are here now, however, and this 
renders it impossible for me (through want of accommodation 
in these hurriedly furnished quarters) to return your invitation, 
and hope to see you here at present ; though I hope this 
may happen on some other occasion, since we propose keep- 
ing the house on. It is a most lovely old house. ... It still 
belongs to the family whose ancestors built it, and whose 
arms are still on some of the chimney-breasts. The garden, 
and meadows leading to the river-brink, are truly delicious — 
indeed the place is perfect ; and the riverside-walks are most 
charming in their way, though I must say the flatness of the 
country renders it monotonous and uninspiring to me. How- 
ever, it is the very essence of all that is peaceful and retired — 
the solitude almost absolute. Kelmscott is a hamlet contain- 
ing, I am told, 117 people, and these even one may be 
said never to see, if one keeps, as I do, the field-paths rather 
than the highroad. I am in Oxfordshire here, it seems, 
though Lechlade (2| miles hence) is in Gloucestershire. It 
is very difficult to get anything one wants in the way of 
supplies, Lechlade being but scanty in resources, and the 
nearest station-town, Faringdon, being so far off that the 
carrier who brings our railway-parcels charges 6s. 6d. for 
every journey. Moreover, tradespeople do not send so far 
as this from either town. Thus a good deal of inconvenience 
tempers the attractions of the place. Morris and I had been 
for some little time in search of a place to take jointly in the 
country when this one was discovered in a house-agent's 
catalogue — the last place one would have expected to furnish 
such an out-of-the-world commodity. 

I may perhaps have to stay here several weeks longer, 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 87 1. 245 

owing firstly to my work and need of change, secondly to 
Morris's expected coming, and thirdly that my studio at 
Chelsea is undergoing radical alteration for the improve- 
ment of its light while I am away, and of course the 
proceedings are dilatory. 

To your enquiries about my prospects I may reply simply 
that I make lots of money (for a poor painter), and never have 
a penny to fly with. My father used to have an Italian 
proverb (perhaps known to you) which said : — 

Chi a venti non sa 

Mai non sapra. 
Chi a trenta non fa 

Mai non fara. 
Chi a quaranta non ha 

Mai non avra. 

And alas it is all true. 

I am extremely sorry to hear that your income has suffered 
lately — let me hope, not permanently or beyond chance of 
recovery. I am so far from exempt myself from signs of 
failing health already that I look with the less wonder on 
the same in your case. Poor Christina's state has been a sad 
one lately ; and I was deeply grieved to hear such melancholy 
accounts of Henrietta — as I need hardly tell you. It is great 
comfort at any rate that my Mother keeps up well. 

An autograph is puzzling. Will the one enclosed do? 

C 78. 
The poem which my brother sent me was The Cloud Confines, 
published in his Ballads and Sonnets^ 1881. I give here only the 
last stanzas which differ somewhat from the printed version. The 
other poem, which he contributed to the Dark Blue magazine, 
appears under the title Down Stream in his volume entitled Poems, 
1 88 1. It is the same as The River's Record (see B 56). 

The Manor House, Kelmscott, Leciilade. 

[10 September 1871.] 

Dear William, 

I wish you'd write me anything of your doings abroad 
or other news. I am likely to be back in about a fortnight 


more, I suppose, but I shouldn't wonder if it stretched to 
three weeks. 

The changes in my studio at Chelsea under Webb's direc- 
tions, giving me a good light at last, will be completed next 
week. You might go and take a look at them if you liked. 

I have been doing a replica here (of that Beatrice) — a beastly 
job, but lucre was the lure. ... I have written a few things — 
notably Part I. (51 five-line stanzas) of a poem called Rose 
Mary (you may remember my using the name long ago 
for some rubbish destroyed), and which is about a magic 
crystal, or Beryl as it was called — a story of my own, good, 
I think, turning of course on the innocence required in the 
seer. Part II. will be much longer, I think, and should hope 
to get on with it now, were it not that Top comes here 
to-night from Iceland. . . . 

On one short thing I have done, not meant to be a trifle, 
I want your advice about the close. I copy it herewith, and 
the form of the four last lines there given is the one I incline 
to adopt — thus, you see, leaving the whole question open. 
But at first I had meant to answer the question in a way, 
on the theory hardly of annihilation but of absorption. As 
thus (last five lines) — 

" And what must our birthright be ? 
Oh never from thee to sever, 

Thou Will that shalt be and art,— 
To throb at thy heart for ever, 
Yet never to know thy heart." 

As I say, I incline to the lines given in the copy as the safest 
course. . . . 

Does the parrot brought me by Stillman talk ? 

Ever yours, 

D. G. R. 

P.S.— I'm Dark-Blued at last, owing to Brown, who was 
asked to illustrate something of mine for them if I would 
contribute. It's a little sort of ballad I wrote here — to 
appear in October. 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 87 1. 247 


The day is dark and the night 
etc. etc. \ etc. 

The sky leans dumb on the sea 

A-weary with all its wings ; 

And oh the song the sea sings 
Is dark everlastingly. 

Our past is clean forgot, 

Our present is and is not, 

Our future's a sealed seed-plot. 
And what betwixt them are we ? 
What words to say as we go ? 

What thoughts to think by the way? 
What truth may there be to know, 

And shall we know it one day ? 

" The poor woodchuck " was one of my brother's favourite 
animals- — otherwise named a "Canadian Marmot." Mr. Scott did 
a portrait of him, which was sold among the contents of No. 16 
Cheyne Walk in July 1882. In his Autobiographical Notes Mr. 
Scott has erroneously termed his four-footed sitter the wombat. 


[20 September 1871.] 

Dear William, 

I am getting towards a finish with my poem, which 
will be about 150 stanzas, and makes three parts. I ought 
to have asked you (though late now) for any information 
you have at hand about magic crystals or mirrors. I 
remember in a note to Lane's One TJiousand and One 
Nights there is an account of some such transaction — I think 
it is in the volume you have ; and the only thing I can 
remember about it is that the first thing seen is a figure 
sweeping with a broom. This I have used. I have been 
unlucky in being out here when I wrote the thing, but don't 
know after all whether book-information would have served 
me much. If you'd give a look in any likely quarter. 


however, and let me know results promptly, I'd be much 
obliged still. 

Ever yours, 

D. G. R. 

You will be grieved to hear that the poor woodchuck is 

C 80. 

Saturday [23 September 1871]. 

Dear William, 

I meant in last writing to have mentioned the matter 
about the proposed memorial to our Father at Florence. I 
should like myself to subscribe ^50 or ^100 ; but should not 
think it perhaps advisable to take these steps at once if there 
were any danger thereby of stopping subscription in Italy, 
as it would be a great pity not to be able to say that the 
honour done to his memory was thoroughly a national one. 
Will you give me your ideas on this point ? I think it most 
likely that I shall be back now about the ist October. I 
have finished Rose Mary — 3 Parts, 160 stanzas. 

C 81. 

[28 September 1871.] 

Dear W— , 

Thanks about the memorial-matter. I shall be very 
glad to do as you suggest when necessary, but do think it a 
great pity if the Vasto people are being (or have been) 
stopped in a subscription by the news that more than ample 
funds were offered by the family. A pity, I mean, for the 
honour's sake. If this has not yet been done, and could be 
staved off by your writing to Ricciardi or any one your 
views on the subject, I would certainly do so. 

It strikes me, if a medallion had to be done, the best plan 
(if our funds arc to be used here) would be to employ 
some one — say Tupper — to produce something from such 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 8/ 1. 249 

records as I made of my Father during his Hfe, and I could 
suggest or even retouch. Else an afflictive grotesque will be 
the certain result. 

C 82. 

Here begins the matter of the Contemporary Review, and the 

article by "Thomas Maitland " on The Fleshly School of Poetry. 

I think it as well to print, following my brother's note, the reply 

which I sent to him, and which, after his death, I found among 

his papers. 

[16 Cheyne Walk. 

17 October 1 87 1.] 

Dear W , 

What do you think ? writes me that Maitland is 

Buchanan ! 

Do you know Buchanan's prose, and can you judge if it 
be so? If it be, I'll not deny myself the fun of a printed 
Letter to the Skunk. 

says he has it " on very good authority." 

C 82A. 

18 October [1871]. 

Dear Gabriel, 

Buchanan had never occurred to me, but on your 
mentioning him it seemed to me exceedingly probable. I 
have now read the article through again. It seems to me that 
in point of style etc. it might very well be Buchanan's, but 
still I don't feel strengthened in that view by the perusal. 
Buchanan is himself twice named : page 334 as personating 
Cornelius (which seems to imply a slight more or less) ; 
page 343 as your prototype m. Jenny. This latter (see also the 
reference to Buchanan's critics attached to it) does seem very 
much the sort of self-assumption which Buchanan might be 
minded (in utter ignorance of dates etc.) to indulge in. Also, 
page 348, Ballad on a Wedding, and Clever Tom ClincJi : I 
don't know whether these are Buchanan's, but they rather 
sound as if they might be. The phrases weird — solemn league 


mid covenant— hdcve a Scotch sound ; but Maitland is a Scotch 
name rather than otherwise, so one can make Httle of that 
as suggesting Buchanan. 

The observation (344) that you are not to be blamed for 
selecting the subject oi Jenny looks rather like Buchanan, who 
has been censured for somewhat similar subjects. Also the 
reference {nG) to Swinburne's illness notified in Athenceiim. 
Buchanan, I know, saw that or some similar printed report ; 
for he thereupon took the good-natured trouble (as I suppose 
I must have mentioned to you) of urging Dr. Chapman to 
try to get hold of Swinburne and restore him to health, and 
Chapman called on me in consequence. 

My opinion is that there is not at present sufficient material 
for pinning Buchanan as the author of that reviev/ ; and at 
all events I have a strong belief that you will find it in the 
long run more to your comfort and dignity to take no public 
steps whatever for the scarifying of Mr. Maitland — though of 
course the temptation is considerable. 


W. M. R. 

B 58. 

Urrard House, Perthshire. 

21 June 1872. 

My dearest Mother, 

We got here to-day at 11, after 14 or 15 hours' hard 
travelling, but in a most luxurious Avay such as I could hardly 
have imagined. An immense deal has been done by Mr. 
Graham to smooth away difficulties, and his kindness 
throughout has been excessive. What to say of Brown's 
brotherly lovingness to me I do not know — even from him 
I could hardly have supposed such love and long patience 
possible. Since we arrived here it has been raining, but this 
evening we three — including George Hake — did manage to 
walk out a little about the garden etc. There are many 
beautiful points which we enjoyed, and there is even a scheme 
for my painting a picture of one if such a thing can be thought 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 872. 25 I 

of, but I am quite in the dark as to possibilities as yet. 
Poor Allan is not very brilliant in health just now, but 
behaves very well. 

How wonderful and happy to hear of Christina's sudden 
rally ! I suppose she is now already at Hampstead, and I 
trust still further benefiting. I was glad to understand that 
William had managed to get to business again. 

The most striking point about the situation of this house 
is an immense hill which faces the dining-room window, and 
has from many points of view much that is imposing and 
noble. It would of course be the leading point in any picture 
which dealt with the spot. It seems that the battle of 
Killiecrankie, at which the Marquis of Dundee was killed, 
was fought on the site of this house — a former Urrard House 
having been his residence ; and in the garden a mound marks 
the spot where he fell by a bullet after reaching his own 

I thought I would not let a day pass without just putting 
pen — a very bad one — to paper to let you hear of me ; but 
in fact I am no correspondent just now, and will not ask you 
to answer this even, knowing well all that your love would 

With my own love to all at home, I am 

Your most affectionate Son, 


C 83. 

During my brother's absence in Scotland I attended mainly to his 
correspondence and other affairs, and had found some letters regard- 
ing a translation from some poem of his, and a request for permission 
to include others in a volume of Selections. The translator was a 
German lady. This is the matter spoken of towards the beginning 
of the letter. 

The best wishes for Cathy and congratulations to Hueffer relate 
to the approaching marriage of Mr. Madox Brown's second daughter 
to Dr. Hueffer. 


Trowan, Crieff. 
[22 August 1872.] 

Dear William, 

I have been meaning to answer your letter, though 
with no particular material. I rejoice to hear that Christina 
is getting on so fairly well on the whole. 

The matters you dwell on about the translation and Selec- 
tions are quite unimportant I have been in the habit of 
answering such applications as the latter, or not, just as it 
chanced. The lady perhaps required a word of thanks. 

I need not be calling on you for further books at present, 
I believe, as we have got some from a circulating library at 

Will you give my warmest love to Brown, together with 
all best wishes for Cathy's welfare and congratulations to 
Hueffer? We have not heard from Brown for some time, 
but no doubt all his time has been taken up. 

The weather is very uncertain here, but a little less so for 
the last few days. I manage to go out daily, but my lame- 
ness and all else is just the same as ever. ■ The goodness of 
Dr. Hake and George quite unwearying. We read aloud 
now in the evenings for two or three hours. 

I thought I would write, but, as you see, have nothing 
to say. With warmest love to yourself. Mamma, and Sis- 
ters, I am 

Your affectionate 


C 84. 


Thursday [5 September 1872]. 

Dear William, 

I dare say you know that Dr. Hake is leaving here, 
and that Dunn is coming down. I think it is very objection- 
able for my house to be left with the servants only in it, and 
... I should be glad if you would look down there when you 


* * * * ' # * • 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1872. 253 

For myself, I have been painting a little. Of course there 
was little I could do here without models. I took up the 
replica of Beatrice which I was doing for Graham, and had 
abandoned last year as hopeless. Now it seems to be coming 
round tolerably, and, if fit to deliver, will at any rate relieve 
me of a debt of 900 guineas, though it brings no present grist 
to the mill. 

My lameness continues the same, and I have little doubt 
will be permanent. An utter sleeplessness, except some two 
or three hours about once a fortnight, is the state of things in 
spite of heavy narcotics. 

I get out daily for a six miles or so of walk, unless the 
weather is very bad, in which case my walk is shorter. 

Since I ceased to be Graham's guest, expenses here are of 
course an anxious matter, but it cannot be helped. I heard 
some time back of your having made some payments in 
London, and have just asked Dr. Hake to look up your letter 
on the subject ; but, though he is sure he kept it, he cannot 
find it now. I did not look at it when it came, not being in 
the mood. 

* * * * * * 

I suppose Hueffer and Cathy Brown were married yesterday. 
Will you say everything that ought to be said to the Papa 
and family from me when you see them ? I may or may not 
be able to write myself. 

With love, 

Ever yours, 

D. G. R. 

P.S. — In the matter of Brass the Builder's bill, you did right 
to refer it to Webb. He (Brass) said at starting that the cost 
of the alterations in the studio would be about £^0 or ;^8o. 
This Webb thought a low estimate. I don't know what . . . 
his bill is ; but I paid him £60 at Christmas last, and see no 
reason to be paying more at present. 

* * * * * * 


C 85. 

The " Silence drawing " is a crayon-drawing of a female half- 
figure, which had been sold during my brother's absence from 
London : it has been autotyped. Mr. Murray Marks, then an Art- 
dealer in Oxford Street, and Mr. J. Aldam Heaton, then of Bradford, 
were concerned in the matter, which was partly of my own transact- 
ing. Mr. Parsons had been a painter and photographer ; about this 
time he was also acting as an Art-dealer. 

Friday [6 September 1872]. 

Dear William, 

I forgot yesterday to allude to the Silence drawing, 
which George tells me was sold by Marks to Heaton. I 
ought not to have parted with it — at any rate yet— as it is 
worth more than I got, and is moreover a thing I mean to 
paint if I go on working. As it is, a photo of it should at 
any rate have been taken, and if Heaton retains it he would 
no doubt allow this to be done. The photo should be about 
the size of the largest Parsons has done for me. I don't 
know if it could be borrowed, or if Heaton would get it done 
at Bradford. 1 dare say you have already written him about 
it. His address is 

J. A. Heaton 
Near Bingley 
• Yorks. 

I am rather desirous to get at Salanimbo, which I possess 
and have never read. This is not so easy now that Dunn is 
away : . . . perhaps you would look it up and send it. It 
may possibly however be in that cupboard in the back room, 
first floor. 

Ever your affectionate 


FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 872. 255 

B 59- 

At Mrs. S'iewart's, 
Trowan, Crieff, N.B-, 

12 September 1872. 

My dearest Mother, 

I received your affectionate letter, and was glad to find 
the news of Christina pretty good. . . . 

I fear you have derived (I know not how) too favourable 
an impression about myself from my last letter. This would 
of course be a gain, were it not for the coming disinganno 
when we m.ect again. However, one must hope for the best, 
even if the worst is all one gets by it. 

I am beginning to be impatient of staying here, yet am not 
disposed to return to London if I can help it. I may possibly 
find my way to Kelmscott ere long, but am undecided as 
yet. Dr. Hake has, as you probably know, left me, but his 
son is still here, and Dunn has lately arrived. 

There are some fine walks here, one of which has now 
become, almost without variation, our daily choice. The 
roads are nearly all very hilly, but so gradual and free from 
unevenness as not to be toilsome. One's path lies sometimes 
between wooded coverts on both sides, and sometimes emerges 
on an unscreened platform commanding wide prospects 
hemmed in by the hills, then again passes into woodland, and 
so on ; till at last one finds one has unwittingly reached some 
eminence which, seen from below, would have seemed a task 
not to be attempted. Sometimes one attains a moorland 
covered with the most lovely heather, which stands about a 
foot high, forming a plump bed like moss, and so stiff that 
the wet sinks through it, and it remains dry enough to lie down 
on in almost any weather. The fare here would be wofully 
monotonous, were it not that Graham, ever since the shooting 
season began, has constantly kept us supplied with hampers 
of game, — grouse, hares, partridges, and rabbits, which, as 
you may suppose, have been a welcome addition to our table. 
The cooking is far from bad, and the quarters here very 
comfortable. The place was discovered, on our having to 
leave Stobhall, by the greatest exercise of energy on the part 


of Dr. Hake. When the time arrived, George first spent two 
days on the East coast — a considerable distance — looking for 
new quarters at St. Andrew's and elsewhere, but his reports 
of the results were not promising. Accordingly next day his 
father started off in the same direction, but with no better 
success. He then bethought him somehow of Crieff, and 
retraced his steps thither. He called on the local doctor, 
introducing himself as a brother practitioner, and asked if he 
knew of any farmhouse or such where lodgings could be had ; 
and thus, step by step, he arrived at this place, and took it. 
The journeys of both father and son were performed under 
heavy and almost continual rain, and certainly gave proof of 
great faculties for exploration, which indeed both possess in 
a high degree. 

I have been painting here lately, and have finished a copy 
of that Beatrice picture for Graham. This however is un- 
luckily already paid for, so brings no grist to the mill, but at 
any rate frees me from a heavy debt. However, he expressed 
a great wish for a " predella " to the picture, — that is, a small 
picture running underneath the larger one, as in old Italian 
art, — and this I am beginning now, and shall be able to 
charge for. The interruption to my pursuits has indeed been 
a heavy evil ; and it still remains to be seen whether I can 
resume them to full purpose. 

With warmest love to both of you, believe me 

Your most loving Son, 

C 86. 

" Howell's proposal," mentioned in the P.S., was (I think) a 
friendly offer to assign a separate part of his own house at Fulham 
for my brother's use, if deemed convenient. 


[ij September 1872.] 

Dear William, 

I dare say I am mistaken, but in my somewhat morbid 
state of mind your last letter received this morning seems to 
possess a kind of reticence as if I had said something in mine 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 872. 2^^ 

which was more or less displeasing to you, and I cannot help 
(however unnecessarily) casting about for what it can be. 
If my declining a sudden and violent move in respect of the 
Chelsea house should seem ill-advised to you, I must retain 
my belief that such a move would be very rash. 1 have 
erected a studio there at great trouble and expense ; the job 
of moving would be a very heavy one, and absorb much 
time ; and, even as a storehouse for my belongings till I 
know exactly what I am going to do, the place would be 
better retained than given up ; since, if I continue to work 
at present, the expense of retaining it would be less than the 
inevitable loss of time and work which giving it up and 
changing abode would occasion me. I have at Kelmscott 
quarters already fitted for my work ; and, even if I remained 
there the whole winter (I always speak, barring casualties to 
health or life which it is no use trying to calculate), it would 
be much better to have for the present in reserve the question 
of returning to my really suitable house at Chelsea than to 
encounter the difficulties of some place almost certainly un- 
suitable if looked up in a hurry. Moreover, if I did not 
readily let the house, I should have to pay that rent as well 
as a new one. 

Were a stiitable place to be heard of in or near London, 
the question would then assume a different aspect. I expect 
to leave this for Kelmscott next Monday. . . . 

Within the last week or so I have rather decidedly rallied 
in some respects as regards health and spirits, and I find that 
work presents no difficulty of any kind. Wherever I can be 
at peace, there I shall assuredly work. . . . 

My sleep has certainly been better for about a week past ; 
and as for the lameness, that must just be put up with, as 
it interferes neither with work nor even with necessary 
exercise to any absolute extent. . . . 

I look to finish the predella for Graham this week, and so 
by its price (150 guineas) to defray (or nearly to do so) my 
expenses in Scotland. 

VOL. n. 17 


I am glad even of the slightly improved account of Christina. 
My love to her and all. I suppose Mamma did not miss 
getting a letter I lately wrote her to Glottenham. 

Your affectionate 

D. G. R. 

P.S. — Just as I finish this (in answer to one of yours from 
Cheyne Walk) I receive by mid-day post a second of yours 
from Somerset Hoicse, apparently both replying to one letter 
of mine ; the tone of the second, however, entirely removing 
the impression of the first. I see nothing particular otherwise 
to say further in answer, except that, were I left alone at 
Kelmscott (or perhaps in any case), I might be availing 
myself of your brotherly offer to join me, and that I feel much 
the friendliness of Howell's proposal, but hardly see my way 
to accepting it — just now at any rate, if at all. 

C 87. 

A forgery upon my brother is spoken of at the end of this letter. 
His suspicions pointed in the right direction ; but, as the offender 
(female) had been known to him in childhood, he would not allow 
any enquiries to be made, preferring to suffer the loss of the money. 

^ 20 September 1872. 

Dear William, 

We (George and I) have now resolved to leave from 
Perth at 4 o'clock on Monday, and make for Euston Station, 
reaching it at 4.30 on Tuesday morning. We should then 
cab it to Paddington, and catch there the 6.30 train for 
Faringdon, which reaches there at 8.50. I don't think it 
would be safe for us to come to your house on the way, as 
catching trains is ticklish work ; but, if not too great a tax 
on you, we might meet if you would be at Euston Station 
when the train came in, and so accompany us to Paddington 
and see us off there. George will be going with me to 

FAMILV-LETTERS— 1872. 259 

Of course I think it very likely you might not be able to 
come, with the necessity of rest which your overwork requires. 
If we happened to miss you on the platform, perhaps you 
might go on to Paddington and meet us there. If you have 
anything to say in reply to this, you had better telegraph, as 
I fear a letter wouldn't reach us now. 

Before you get this you will have heard probably through 
Brown of the unlucky forgery of a cheque in my name for 
nearly ^50, and the odd explanation which at once occurred 
to me, and which I fear must be correct. 

C 88. 

Wednesday [25 September 1872]. 

Dear William, 

The pleasant peaceful hours at Euston Square yester- 
day were the first happy ones I have passed for months ; 
and here all is happiness again, and I feel completely myself. 

I know well how much you must have suffered on my 
account ; indeed perhaps your suffering may have been more 
acute than my own dull nerveless state during the past 
months. Your love, dear William, is not less returned by 
me than it is sweet to me, and that is saying all. 

I was greatly relieved to find all the family at Euston 
Square — even Christina — better than I had ventured to hope. 
I am determined now to make every effort not to go under 
again, and feel at this moment as if such a thing were im- 
possible. However, though I do not mean to hurry about 
giving up the Chelsea house, I am quite of opinion that, if 
a desirable and feasible place were to be found a little out 
of London, it would be much the wisest plan to secure it. 
George has hit on an advertisement of a twenty-three roomed 
house at Highgate standing in its own grounds. I don't know 
whether Highgate is quite far enough away, but should like 
you or some capable person to look at the house. George is 


away at Faringdon just now, but, if he returns before post- 
time, I'll enclose the advertisement. 

All the effects of the journey have worn off, and I feel 
quite right to-day. 

» *. * * * * 

George has just come from Faringdon with the case of 
papers and drawing's. It has got a good deal knocked about 
on the journey, but not seriously. Unfortunately, just the 
very valuable drawing — that of Janey seated — had by some 
strange fancy been put with its face against the rough wood 
inside the case. The wonder is that it is not seriously 
injured : a few places in the hair had got rubbed, but these 
I have been able to repair. 

* * * * * * 

Your loving Brother, 

D. G. R. 

If the Highgate house were looked at, it would of course 
be necessary to see whether there was a good room for studio 
with North aspect. 

P.S. — There is one thing I much want sent on to Kelmscott, 
and that is a large case to contain large and small greenish 
papers for chalk-drawing, and I want the following put in 
it, viz. : — 

1. The last drawing I was making of Janey, and which I 
believe is in the glass case, with drawers underneath and a 
curtain before the glass, which stands in my studio. The 
rest of the figure is very slightly sketched in — something as 
here [a sketch given of the figure on which the picture 
named TJie Day-dream was based]. 

2. A large greenish paper which would be somewhere 
against the wall, either in studio or little front-room, and 
which contains a head of Mme. Zambaco, and one of Janey, 
just begun, for Pandora. 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1872. 261 

C 89. 

Thursday [26 September 1872]. 

Dear William, 

I am happy to say to-day that, through Mr. Watts's 
friendly offices, the cheque-business seems in a fair way of 
being quashed : only I shall have to lose the money. This, 
however, is the minor evil. He asks very pertinently — How 
are we to guard against a repetition of the offence ? This 
you see would almost involve a prosecution inevitably. Do 
you think it would be possible to see whether any clue to 
the woman's whereabouts could be got at her former lodgings ? 
If so, one might perhaps warn her by letter that she was 
discovered, but that the matter would this time be overlooked. 
I have asked Watts's opinion about this. 

My strength seems completely re-established here to-day. 
The floods are not out as yet, so that walking is feasible, 
and the weather splendid. The place is a perfect Paradise. 
You must really come and see it sooner or later. George 
Hake says he never knew such a place in his life. 

C 90. 

\_Friday 27 September 1872.] 

Dear William, 

I am very sorry to hear about Christina. My love 
to her. 

By the bye, when I saw you I thought you showed fearful 
signs of fagging and overwork, as well you might. I don't 
think you should for a moment relinquish the heartiest 
holiday you can get. I am doubtful yet what my own moves 
may exactly be, but trust to do pretty well, on my own hook 
chiefly now, especially when Dunn is back in London, as he 
will be very soon, and can attend to commissions. I am 
wonderfully well now, and even the lameness seems perhaps 


on the improving tack. I think of writing to Marshall about 
one or two things. . . . 

All this past cursed state of things began on my birthday. 
May the spell be removed now that yours is past ! . . . 

C 91. 

" The children," mentioned here in connexion with Mr. George 
Hake, are Mr. and Mrs. Morris's two girls. 


6 October 1872.] 

Dear William, 

The cheque and book reached quite safely. I'll hope 
to see you here as soon as you like, since Morris is not 
coming till Saturday of next week at soonest, and his room 
is therefore at your service now. After that, there is plenty 
of room still, and another bedroom could be got ready for 
use in no time. You know you come to Faringdon Station 
from Paddington. The train I generally take is the evening 
one — 6.30 I think — which goes quicker than any other. 
There are two changes, at Didcot and Uffington. On 
reaching Faringdon, you come on by fly to Kelmscott 
Manor, 7 miles by the road. The whole affair takes from 
3I to 4 hours. If you let us know exactly when you are 
coming, George will meet you with the fly. Otherwise 
telegraph from Paddington to the Crown Inn, Faringdon, 
what time you are getting there, and that they should send 
fly to meet the train. All the luggage has got here now, so 
I expect to be at work in good earnest, in which case Janey 
will be sitting to me the greater part of the day, and I shall 
not be very much at liberty during the light hours ; but we 
should nevertheless see lots of each other, and this place 
would really take you some time to see. George would do 
any amount of boating and punting, etc. You would more- 
over have a room all to yourself to write in when you wished. 
George sticks on here, but there is plenty of room. He is 
very useful in all sorts of ways, since the distances are so 
great for getting anything wanted. The Weather is change- 

P'AMILY-LETTERS — 1872. 263 

able now, but not very bad yet on the whole, and there seems 
a fair prospect of some fine spells yet. I have renewed my 
tenancy and paid up arrears, so I have as good a right to ask 
you down as any one else. Janey joins warmly, and so would 
Top if here. George yearns also. He seems as happy here 
as it is possible to be, and gives the children all kinds of 
treats on the river, etc. 

I certainly think it would be very desirable, if you can 
manage it, that you should stay in London till Dunn's arrival 
there, but it is not necessary nevertheless. . . , 

I should think you might bring your literary work here 
without waiting to do it in town. 

I am extremely sorry about Christina, particularly as, on 
the day I saw her, she really seemed to me to have attained 
some sort of settled health. My love to her and all. 

I wrote Howell on the business-matter, but have not yet 
heard from him. . . . 

B 60. 

The picture for which my brother wanted to ascertain a 
Dantesque date must have been the predella to the Beata Beatrix 
commissioned by Mr. Graham. 

This address sufficient. ^W^ Kelmscott, Lechlade. 

^^^^ 10 October 1872. 

My dearest Mother, 

I have been meaning all along to write to you since 
coming here, but, having several other letters daily to attend 
to, and thinking you would hear news of me when I wrote to 
William, I have somehow failed in my intentions ; but must 
now write to say that William is safely ensconced here, 
looking on his arrival I thought decidedly better than when 
I saw him in London ; and to-day, after a good walk, looking 
still further improved. The weather seems unluckily just 
to-day to be breaking up, and the rain at this moment is very 
heavy. Hitherto we have had on the whole fine weather, and 
I have walked daily. The worst of this place is that a few 
days of rain fetch the floods out in no time, and the country 


becomes impassable for pedestrians, or indeed for anything 
but a boat, while even the roads get completely turned to 
bogs, so badly constructed are they. I have not got very 
much to work yet, having been in a lazy mood, but shall very 
soon make a good start, I dare say. George Hake is a perfect 
god-send to the two little girls, who have made a complete 
slave of him for boating, punting, and pony-riding purposes, 
and they keep up a system of excursionizing to their hearts' 
content, as George seems never so well pleased as when they 
are making him escort them about. His good-nature is 
wonderful, but they are such charming and lovable children 
that it is really a pleasure to be with them. There is a most 
comically fat and stolid pony here which Morris brought last 
year from Iceland. He is more like Sancho's donkey than any- 
thing equine, and was never seen but twice from the window 
to do anything but eat in his private field. On two occasions 
only he was meditating with his back against a tree. 

I have been very sorry lately to hear such poor accounts 
of Christina, — however, the last one is a little better. My love 
to her, to Maria when you write or see her again, and to my 
aunts. Also to Uncle Henry and poor Henrietta, of whom 
I suppose it would be no use hoping for better news. Could 
Maria evoke from her Dantesque chronology, which I know 
is very minute, the exact year, month, and day, of Dante's 
meeting with Beatrice in the Eden towards the end of the 
Purgatorio ? Would you ask her this if you write ? I want 
the date for a picture. I dare say it would be found in her 
book, but I have not got that by me. 

I have been perfectly well since coming here, except indeed 
as regards my slight lameness, which however causes me no 
great inconvenience. 

C 92. 

3 November 1872. 

Dear William, 

I have been meaning to write to you since your 
departure, and received your message through the kids about 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 872. 265 

poor Henrietta. I have since heard from her father, and 
answered him. 

I send you on a letter of Howell's which will put you in 
some degree au courant of my present relations with him. 
The picture he agrees to buy is the one of Proserpine — 
price 550 guineas — and I have now told him he had better 
send cheque for half the price on account at once. ... If 
I do settle out of London, it will be very important — indeed 
almost indispensable — to me to have a middle-man or agent, 
and an intermediate purchaser (alias picture-dealer) is the 
best kind. . . . 

I fancy it may perhaps be the very thing for me, if he 
proves as able as willing to take work of mine freely. The 
Proserpine I am selling him is a second one I have begun. 
The first did not quite please me, but will sell as a separate 
thing by cutting out the head, which is done. The second 
is very well started, and I fully expect to finish it soon and 
bag the tin. There has been some delay, owing to a very 
bad cold of Janey's (I have had one too), and meanwhile I 
have done a very careful chalk-drawing of May, which will 
be worth 100 guineas, I doubt not. 

Dunn will probably be telling you about moves towards 
houses out of town, but there seems nothing conclusive as 
yet. Please return me Howell's letter. 

With love at home. 

Your affectionate 


<^ 93- 

7 November 1872. 

DEx\r William, 

I send you an Italian sonnet for you to pick holes 
in. . . . 

I got to-day from Parsons a cheque for one half the 
purchase-money (550 guineas in all) of the Proserpine, whigh 
progresses rapidly and well, 



LuNGi la luce die in sii questo muro 

Mi giunge appena, un breve istante scorta 
Del mio palazzo alia lontana porta. 

Lungi qiiei fiori d'Enna, o lido oscuro, 

Dal frutto tuo fatal per cui snaturo. 

Lungi quel cielo dal tartareo manto 

Che qui mi cuopre : e lungi ahi lungi ahi quanto 

Le notti che saran dai di che furo ! 

Lungi da me mi sento ; e ognor sognando 

Cerco e ricerco, e resto ascoltatrice ; 

E qualche cuore a qualche anima dice, 
(Di cui mi giunge il suon di quando in quando, 
Continuamente insieme sospirando)— 

" Oime per te, Proserpina infelice ! " 

C 94. 

" Scotus " is a familiar name which we applied to our friend Mr. 

W. B. Scott. " Nolly's good luck " was the acceptance by Messrs. 

Smith and Elder of Oliver Brown's highly remarkable tale The 

Black Swa?i for publication. He was at this time only seventeen 

years of age. The tale appeared under the title of Gabriel Denver. 


12 November 1872. 

Dear W , 

I send you on this letter from Scotus, on account of 
a passage towards the end which I think you would wish 
to see. Thanks for your strictures on my sonnet, which I 
perceive to be correct. I am glad to hear so pretty good 
an account of Christina. Glad also to hear of Nolly's good 
luck. I anticipate a great success for him. . . . 

It is late bedtime, so good-bye. I never find time for 
writing now in the day, being very regularly at work. 
With love to all at home, 

Your most affectionate 


" The summons " was a summons for my brother to attend on a 
jury. 1 had offered a satisfactory explanation of his inability to 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1872. 267 

serve. Some years before this he had been on a grand jury, and 

insisted on throwing out a bill in some case (I forget what it was) 

which excited a certain public interest. As usual, he carried his 



25 November \Zt2.. 

Dear William, 

I am very sorry you should have had all this trouble 
about the summons. The right thing in such a case is to 
go at once to one's doctor, get a certificate, and send it in. 
Hearing you had written to Slowman, the thing flew out of 
my head, or I should have done this with Marshall, as I did 
once with Bowman when my eyes were bad. 

As it is, I suppose you eventually got the thing from 
Marshall in time — otherwise I must make up my mind to 
be fined Heaven knows what, though in fact my being now 
settled out of town should be sufficient. . . . 
With thanks for all trouble, 

Ever yours, 

D. G. R. 

George and I are alone here now for the present. 

C 96. 

" Mouse's field " was the field wherein the Icelandic pony pre- 
viously spoken of, named Mouse, was accommodated. 


II December 1872. 

My dear William, 

I have been meaning to write often, but it is extra- 
ordinary how, every day almost (if not indeed quite), some 
necessity of writing several letters turns up, so that any which 
are not quite necessary are apt to go to the wall. 

Scott, as you know, has been here for several days, and 
has just left, as well as Dr. Hake. Scott told me you seemed 
anxious as to my state of funds. I am all right in this 
respect, though I have made a good many payments lately, 
some of them rather large sums. To-day I have more than 


£SS^ ill the bank, and shall certainly have at least ^500 
more in the course of January, so there is no cause for alarm. 
I have kept on paying new debts strictly on the nail, so all 
that is outstanding is what you already know of. . . . 

Will you, when at Chelsea, open all letters that may be 
there for me, and only send on those I should wish to see? 
T/ie week's letters had better lie till you come for your inspection. 
Will you mention this to Dunn ? It is extraordinary, how- 
ever, how very few letters seem to come to Chelsea. 

I believe Scott reported to you an intention of mine to 
come up to London for Christmas Day, but I find that several 
causes combine to render this uncertain, much as I should 
like to see you all. I must write further on the point. 

The floods have been out here now for a long time, but 
walking is still possible in the higher meadows. The tremen- 
dous gale of last Sunday night had some disastrous results, 
uprooting no less than six important trees — three in the 
avenue in Mouse's field, and three in the island by the boat- 
house. Three others — very large elms opposite the front 
gate— are so shaken that they will be sure to fall in the 
next gale, 

I have had to shift my painting quarters from the tapestry- 
room to the drawing-room, which is now my studio. The 
other is insufferably cold in winter, and this was bad enough 
till I resolutely set about a system of stopping out all draughts 
with the help of the Lechlade carpenter. I have had a double 
casement made to the east window, and shut the south one 
up for the winter, so I have no crosslights, and the room 
is now (with some trouble) quite comfortable. I get on well 
with work, though much inconvenienced till Janey's return. 
I may probably, now that the tapestry-room stands empty, 
commence radical reforms there also. . . . 

You may tell Maggie that I got a letter from Mrs. Cowpcr- 
Temple (to whom I had written asking her to help Brown's 
Cambridge affair if she could) in which she speaks enthu- 
siastically of the Shadow of Dante. 

We are getting into order that room with the tilec| fire- 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 872. 269 

place, which I want to make into a drawing-room, as the old 
one is now my studio. However, most unluckily the 
chimney always smokes. We are setting about ways and 
means to stop it, but I don't know how we shall succeed. 
With love to all, 

Your affectionate Brother, 

D. G. R. 

C 97. 
Mrs. Munro was the widow of my brother's old friend the sculptor 
Alexander Munro. Lucy was the elder daughter of Mr. Madox 
Brown. She became my wife on 31 March 1874 j a tie cruelly 
severed by the stroke of death on 12 April 1894. 

Tuesday 17 December 1873. 

Dear William, 

I got a mourning-card announcing Mrs. Munro's death. 
I wrote to Miss Munro, and enclose her answer, which you 
might like to see. 

I now think it most likely that I shall be at Euston Square 
on Christmas Day, but probably leave London again the 
following evening, unless I found that you could dispose of 
a few days following, in which case I might probably enough 
remain — say till about Tuesday. Could you do this ? Or 
must you absolutely be at Somerset House ? 

An idea had already struck me of asking Mamma, yourself, 
and our sisters (aunts also if willing and room possible to 
find), to come and spend a few days here at Christmas, 
instead of my coming to town. It would be interesting, no 
doubt, to all concerned, but I felt so dubious whether Mamma 
and Christina were fit for the journey that I never mentioned 
it. However, I may as well just do so, and hear what you say. 

I believe it is most probable now that Brown, wife, and 
Lucy, will be here for a few days tip to Christmas Day, but 
return to town on Christmas Eve. If therefore the family- 
party from Euston Square found it possible to come by any 


chance, it would be safe to do so by any Tuesday train, as 
beds would be free in the evening. George, as I think I told 
you, is going up to town for a few days at Christmas. 

C 98. 

This note refers to two Dealers in Japanese and Oriental wares — 
Hewitt in Baker Street, and Farmer and Rogers then in Regent 



18 December 1872.] 

Dear William, 

If you could look in at Hewitt's one day, would you 
see what Japanese screens he has, and what he wants for 
them — notably what height they are, and how many leaves ? 
Also let me know the sort of colour. I ask you because 
Howell tells me he gave Hewitt ^^33 for a full-sized paper 
screen lately. I cannot understand this, if the same sort 
is meant as the one I have at Chelsea : that, I think, cost 
£2 \os. twelve years ago. I asked Howell a little while back 
to get me two such screens, and he sent me two which he got 
at the docks from a cargo of many such (all alike as he said). 
They are both here, but are too low to be thoroughly useful — 
not quite as tall as I am — each eight-leaved. The curious 
thing about them is that, while one is a genuine and fine 
Japanese product — silver-patterned paper outside and bird- 
and-foliage picture inside, — the other, though exactly similar 
at a casual glance, is evidently a most inferior copy ; whether 
Japanese or not I don't know, but have often heard of a 
manufactory of Oriental goods at Lyons. 

I should like you to make the enquiry at Hewitt's when 
you can, and would buy a screen, if reasonable in price and 
full-sized. Howell says Hewitt sells those like the one I had 
from him (Howell) for £\o each, and Farmer and Rogers for 
£"15 each. I gave him £a, each. 

tf * * * * * 

' Ever yours, 

D. G. R. 

FAMtLY-LETTERS— 1873- 2^1 

I have not the least doubt Howell gave what he charged 
me for the two screens, but should like to see if a suitable 
one could be got reasonably. 

B 6i. , 

Kelmscott, Lechlade. 

2 January 1873. 

My dearest Mother, 

Thanks for sending on the letter. I greatly enjoyed 
being present at our usual family-gathering on Christmas 
Day, and, had I failed to be so, should certainly have 
preserved the regret of such failure during the whole ensuing 
year. I wish I could have got down to Euston Square again 
before leaving town, but indeed found so much to do at 
Chelsea during the three days I remained there that I had 
my hands too full for another visit to you. I made an 
inventory of all drawings and commencements of all kinds 
which I have there, as there is a mass of work lying idle, 
which, if taken up at odd moments and made presentable, 
might probably be worth many hundred pounds, and which 
would otherwise be mere waste. I allude not to important 
things commenced, but to studies for other things etc. done 
for a purpose and then thrown aside, but which might easily 
be made valuable. I shall have these gradually sent down 
here to work on when it may be. Thus I should realize a 
fund for emergency out of things which, if left till the 
emergency came, would fetch next to nothing, and force 
me to part hurriedly with other things which I wished to 

While I was at Chelsea Graham called on me, and said I 
looked ten years younger ! He himself seemed better in 
spirits than I had ventured to hope after his son's sad death, 
and appeared to be again taking interest in his former tastes 
and plans. 

I find the weather here was not so fine during my absence 
as it was in London. George has brought down an additional 
dog — a very intelligent black-and-tan terrier which he has 


had from a pup. So now we have three dogs, what with the 
sheep-dog I got (named Turvy), the dog sent to George from 
Scotland, which is a cross between a Scotch deer-hound and 
a coUie, and is named Bess, and the new dog who rejoices 
in the name of Dizzy after a celebrated politician. 

Having been absent on Christmas Day, we were last night 
serenaded with a carol by the village-children. The weather 
here is decidedly colder than it was in London, and to-day 
is very dismal. Moreover, a dreadful man in the neighbour- 
hood, who has a beetroot-spirit factory, has established a 
steam-whistle to call his workmen. This goes seven times 
a day, beginning at 5 A.M., and is the dreariest of super- or 
sub-human sounds. It is a long way off, but still one hears 
it here much too distinctly to be pleasant. 

Ellis is immediately going to republish my Italian Poets, 
which has been out of print for some time. I have also some 
thoughts of bringing out a small original volume, but on 
the whole shall probably wait till I have more new material 
by me. ^ 

I still have an idea of exhibiting the large picture with a 
few others of my latter things this Spring, but cannot quite 
make my mind up about it. My being here would not 
matter, as I could get the exhibition conducted in London 
without the least need of my assistance. 

Hoping that you may have a very happy 74th year and 
many yet to follow it, I remain, my dearest Mother, 

Your most loving Son, 




3 January 1873. 

Dear William, 

* * * * * * 

Can you find at your leisure at Chelsea twelve pages 
of Salavnnbo which are wanting in my copy which I brought 
here ? I have read the book however (the last pages happening 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1873. 2^1 

not to be very essential), and certainly you ought to read it. 
It is a phenomenal book, and could only have emanated from 
a nation on the brink of a great catastrophe. The line of 
demarcation between this and Notre Dame de Paris, published 
some thirty years before, is very singular to remark. Hugo's 
book astounds one with horrors, but they seem called up 
more for the purpose of evoking the extremes of human pity, 
and for the author's own luxury in that passion, than for any 
other aim. Flaubert, on the contrary, is not only destitute 
of pity, but one could not judge from his book, teeming as 
it does with inconceivable horrors, that such an element 
existed or ever had existed in human nature. . . . The only 
thing that deadens the agony of mutual destruction through- 
out to the reader is that it is perfectly impossible to feel the 
least preference for one character over another. Whether 
the picture of Carthaginian society be a perfectly true one 
it seems impossible to say ; nor can one conceive on what 
authority the author describes Carthage and all its details as 
minutely as he might do with Paris or London. 

It seems the work of a nation from which mercy had been 
cast out, and which was destined soon to find none. 

I believe Flaubert has written another book since. Do 
you know what it is ? Have I still Madame Bovary at 
Chelsea ? If so, I should like to have it and read it again. 

C 100. 

The " Humorous Poefiis " is a selection which I had made, forming 
one of the volumes of Moxoti's Popular Poets. 

Tuesday 7 January 1873. 

My dear William, 

Thanks for all trouble. The Humorous Poems are to 
hand, and George thanks you for the book — will do so, I 
dare say, in writing. I don't understand whether Nolly's 
wish for a hamster has yet been expressed to the Hakes 
in Germany or not. 

VOL. n. 1 8 



There are some loose leaves in Salammho, but still about 
a dozen pages are missing. . . . 

I consider it extremely friendly on Stephens's part to 
revive the question of my picture, as I really had felt shabby 
towards him, in case I do not open an exhibition of it, as 
having led him to announce such fact beforehand. I can't 
feel sure yet what my plans in this respect may be. Howell 
is very pressing, and offers to undertake it, as did Gambart 
last year ; but Graham seems a little nervous of results on 
my account, and says the Agnews are the only people who 
could really carry it through. (Private, of course.) 

If Stephens writes anything now, I should like him to 
speak also of a few things of mine done lately. I think I 
shall write him and put him in possession of the subject. 
His address I think is lo Hammersmith Terrace ? 
The weather here has been terribly dark and most vexa- 
tious for painting. ... 

C loi. 


8 Jamtary 1873. 

Ellis is beginning immediately to reprint the Early Italian 
Poets. Would you mind the proofs' being sent always first 
to you to look through ? I find the job distasteful, and 
moreover have little daylight. But don't if it bores you or 
you are short of time. 

C 102. 

My brother's project of translating and editing the poems o. 

Michelangelo did not take effect. I hardly think he even made 

a beginning with it. 

Friday 10 January 1873. 

Dear William, 

By some inconceivable mental aberration I did not 
remember when I wrote that of course the copy of my 
Italian Poets in question is the one I . sent to Ellis in a 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 873- 2/5 

dismembered state to print from. Pardon all nuisance in 
the matter, and thanks about proofs. . . . 

I am writing to Ellis for the most recent and exhaustive 
edition of Michelangelo's poems etc. (if etc. there be). I 
mean to translate and edit him at odd times. Have you any 
edition of him, or Life of him ? I am also writing to Ellis for 
a good Vasari. I think you have not one. . . . 

Ever yours, 

D. G. R. 

P.S. — I am telling Ellis to send you the proofs regularly. 
Please, as each is done with by you, send it on to me, and 
I will forward to him. 

C 103. 

"Brown's Address,^' named in the P.S., was an Address which 
Mr. Madox Brown had prepared and printed, as a candidate for 
the Slade Professorship of Art at Cambridge. He did not obtain 
the appointment — Mr. Sidney Colvin being elected. I do not think 
Rossetti was correct in objecting to what Brown had written regard- 
ing Hogarth. Brown spoke (essentially) of Hogarth's originating 
power as a dramatic inventor of pungent actualities in art ; and in 
this respect he certainly had not followed any tradition derivable 
from Watteau and the like painters. His " methpd " in executive 
painting may possibly have come from Watteau, but surely not any 
such series of concentrated scrutiny and momentous meaning as 
The Harlofs Progress, The Rake's Progress, and the Marriage 
a la Mode. 

Sunday 12 January 1873. 

Dear William, 

I am going in for the Michelangelo scheme, and I 
have ordered, from Ellis, Vasari, Grimm's Life, and the best 
Italian edition of the Poems etc. Have you any book of 
value bearing on the subject, or do you know of any ? My 
own impression is that Michelangelo stands about alone 
as a good Italian poet after Dante etc., unless we except 
Poliziano, What opinion have your readings led you to on 


this point ? I wish you would send me a Poliziano, I also 
want Cellini's Life, of which there ought to be a copy in 3 
or 4 thin paper-bound volumes at Chelsea. I also want 
Torri's Dugento Poeti (4 vols., perhaps not all at Chelsea, 
as I think Hueffer has one or two, but am writing to him 
to send all my books hither instanter). I want both to see 
whether it contains any scrap by Michelangelo, and also to 
look at some things by Orcagna which were in it, as one 
might glance at other painter-poets. I also want a little 
book by J. E. Taylor, called Michelangelo a Poet, of which I 
fancy Mamma may have a copy. I don't know if it's worth 
anything, but would like to look at it. 

Ellis takes to the plan, and I shall get about it at leisure 
when feasible. 

Ever yours, 

D. G. R. 

P.S. — I have read Brown's Address, and think it excellent, 
but it is a great pity you did not see a proof. The punctua- 
tion is vile, and many sentences involved, besides wretched 
blunders, such as y^frcagna, . . . The notion of the Synopsis 
of Lectures is rather perverse. Why Hogarth to start with ? 
Besides, it is nonsense about his reviving painting. His 
method is carried on direct from Watteau and other French 
painters. I fear all this will go against Brown. 

C 104. 

" My Blake " was a double picture, which Mr. Woolner had kindly 
presented to me, of Edward I. and William Wallace. It is the same 
design as the two "ghosdy heads" which have been engraved in 
Gilchrist's Life of Blake ; but is the actual handiwork, not of Blake, 
but of Linnell. It is not now in my possession, having unaccount- 
ably disappeared. 

Tuesday ij^ Jiviuary 1873. 

Dear William, 

I wish you'd send me the Michelangelo books you 
have. My own Biagioli would be better than yours, if to the 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 873- 277 

fore, as being by itself. I'll write to Ellis not to get the 
edition I ordered of Michelangelo if he finds yours is the 
best. No need to send Vasari. 

Perhaps I'll write to Knight. The announcement might as 
well be made. 

Among spare frames of which I took notes at Chelsea, 
I find note of one with plain black bead outside and gilt flat 
under glass. Sight {i.e., space for picture), 28^ X 24J inches. 
Would this fit your Blake ? If so, you can have it. It is 
somewhere near the back-door of the studio, in the passage, 
or beyond the midway glass-door there. 

If it won't fit, I should think something rather in same 
style might suit the Blake. 

C 105. 
The " most splendid old portrait " here mentioned was disposed 
of in the sale at 16 Cheyne Walk in July 1882. I suppose it to be 
of the school of Antonio More, rather than by Zucchero or Porbus. 
Howell saw reason for affirming it to be a portrait of Lord Darnley 
by More himself: I am sure this is not correct, as to either personage 
or painter. 

23 January 1873. 

Dear William, 

I have not yet acknowledged the books sent by 
yourself and Maria, as they only reached me this morning. 
The people who brought them with other parcels from the 
Station seem actually to have let this parcel fall out of the 
trap into the road, and there it was found by a bloke who 
brought it here this morning. Luckily no injury had 
occurred to the contents. The Guasti's Michelangelo seems 
an excellent edition, and must no doubt be the best. There 
is much more of it than I thought. Thanks to Maggie for 
her Cellini. 

TruccJii (not Torri) was the author I meant. Hueffer has 
now sent all the books he had of mine (as he says) to Chelsea. 
One or perhaps two Trucchi vols, would be among them, I 
think. Dunn tells me some books are coming on. 


When are you likely to travel this way again? George 
and I are once more alone. 

Did I tell you I have got a most splendid old portrait sent 
here? which I bought in London some time ago, but had 
never got home, as it was being varnished and frame regilt. 
It is a life-size figure to the knees of a man in stiff buckram 
clothes — sort of armour, I suppose — leaning on his sword. 
It is a splendid work in the head and colour, which is as 
glowing as can be. Zucchero, I should think, or might be 
elder Porbus. Quite good enough even for Holbein, if the 
hands were not poor. It is in the most perfect preservation — 
not a false touch anywhere. I look on it as a most valuable 

I have got on capitally now with Proserpine, which will be 
my best picture, and am also turning two of the false shots I 
made at it into separate little head-pictures, so the thing 
altogether will bring me in i^ 1,050. 

With love to all, 



P.S. — For the future all parcels should be directed just like 
letters— Kelmscott, Lechlade — as a Station has opened at 

C 106. 

Mr. Stillman has been already mentioned. My brother always 
viewed him with much regard and predilection, although he did not 
at this moment encourage an early visit from him. Gabriel did not 
go with me to Italy in 1873, nor was he ever there. "The Edwards 
connexion " refers to Mr. Sutherland Edwards, who was an old and 
attached friend of the Hannay family. 

4 February 1873. 

Dear William, 

I have the two first volumes of Trucchi here, and I 
see Michelangelo does appear in the second. 

fAMlLY-LETTERS— 1873- 2^9 

I don't know that it would be much use StiUman's coming 
here just now. I am fully occupied, and, seeing no one, have 
nothing to talk about. I should always of course like to see 
you or Brown, or the two or three with whom I keep up 

* * * * * • * 

I think Dunn is likely to be coming down almost imme- 
diately, and bringing a model with him from whom I want 
to draw. I also expect Howell on business as soon as I can 
make it convenient to have him. So, though bearing Still- 
man's proposal in mind, I fancy it might at any rate be better 
to defer it. 

I wonder if combinations will let it suit me to go 
with you this year to Italy. I should like it much if 

I was very sorry for Brown's defeat, but expected it from 
the first, and had hardly had my view altered by the views of 
others : Colvin was so evidently their man. 

I would like to know if friends are joining to do any- 
thing for the Hannays. I liked their father, and really re- 
spected and admired their mother. If you hear of such plans 
through the Edwards connexion, let me know. 

I have got at last the frame for Graham's Beatrice and 
predella, and have made them look quite satisfactory, I think, 
by last work. I am glad to say Graham seems taking 
interest again in his usual pursuits. 

With love to all, 


D. G. R. 

Everything is smothered in snow here. 

C 107. 

My brother's suggestion of my making a translation of Cellini's 
Autobiography bore no fruit. The work has of late years been done 
— and I suppose well done — by Mr. J. A. Symonds. 



Dear William, 

Monday lo February 1873. 


I'm quite uncertain about plans for Italy, since, were 
it to happen that your departure was just when this place 
had most attractions, I suppose I should stay here. . , . 

Have you seen old Scotus's wonderful Burns letter? He 
told me he was giving a party, which I suppose you 
attended. . . . 

I was thinking — suppose you were to make a characteristic 
translation of Cellini's Life. It would be worth doing with 
carefully preserved peculiarities. I suppose Roscoe's transla- 
tion (I think he did one) would be a cut-and-dried affair, and 
perhaps with omissions. 





C 108. 

The volume of Dr. Hake's poetry reviewed by my brother in the 
Fortnightly Revieiv was the Parables and Tales. As to the Michel- 
angelo incident named by Gabriel, I think it has been painted by 
some French artist; certainly (but this may date later than 1873) 
by an Italian one, who exhibited the work in London. " The statue 
business at Vasto " was a proposal to erect a statue of our Father in 
his native place. The project remained for some years after this 
time in a state of suspended animation, on account partly of some 
shifting of political parties and interests. Afterwards it was revived, 
but has not yet been carried out. Signor Alfonso Celano, a local 
sculptor, was at one time expected to be employed. 

Sunday 16 February 1873. 

Dear William, 

I am to-day sending to Morley a notice of Dr. Hake's 
book for the Fortnightly. As it is late in the month, I have 
asked him to get the proof sent to you to save time. Will 
you kindly correct and return it at once, observing that my 
punctuation is retained (as I suppose they will send you the 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 873. 28 1 

MS. with it)? When the number is out, I would be obHged 
if you would get and send me a copy. 

I expect Dunn and Howell down here to-morrow. 

I am extremely sorry to hear of the disaster at Bath 
House, if it really proves to be a total destruction. The 
noblest thing there was a Leonardo (or most likely Luini) of 
the young Christ and St. John with a lamb, and a lovely 
background arrangement of lily-heads on darkness. Lady 
Ashburton wanted me much to copy this for her, and f am 
now sorry I did not. 

There was also a grand Giorgione (so-called) which was 
two years ago at the R.A, Old Masters ; a Titian, which was 
most likely the best of Bordones ; a noble Velasquez of the 
Boar-hunt order ; a large Rubens, almost the finest I ever 
saw, a hunting-piece, with some splendid sketches of his ; an 
exquisite De Hooghe; and many other good things, including 
I rather think some charming Stothards. 

What an excellent edition of Michelangelo that is which 
you sent me ! I never knew before that all previous editions 
were from a garbled reproduction, not from the autographs, 
so in fact one is only just in time to translate it properly. I 
haven't set to work yet at all on it, finding an incredible 
amount of occupation, and being tempted a good deal to read 
in the evenings when I do not draw. There is a fine subject 
for a picture in Michelangelo's Life. Condivi tells us that he 
heard Michelangelo, when quite old, say that he regretted 
nothing more than that, when he visited Vittoria Colonna on 
her deathbed, he did not kiss her face but only her hand. 
This interview would make a noble picture, and I think I 
ought to paint it as a companion subject to my Daniels 
Dream. I suppose the omnivorous French School must have 
nobbled it somewhere, but don't remember to have seen it 

I know (or rather have seen) the Burkmair Petrarch, and 
always thought Burkmair without a German equal for 
decorative abundance. I don't think people put him high 
enough. I hardly remember, however, that this book is better 


than the Cicero which is at Cheyne Walk. Both are more 
careful (but certainly not finer I think) than the Weisse 
Kontg, which is after all his greatest work. You know he 
was Holbein's brother-in-law. . . . 

I am extremely sorry to hear of Mamma's ailments and 
also of Christina's. I must try and get up to town for a few 
days when I can, chiefly for a family-visit. I feel greatly 
tempted towards Italy when possible, but fancy May will be 
just the time when I am most detained here. 

Ever yours, 

D. G. R. 

Have you heard any more of the statue-business at Vasto ? 
Were I to go to Italy, I should feel much tempted in that 
direction, but for ovations impending. The best would be 
to go to the very quietest and most Italian places that could 
be heard of 

Morley's address is Puttenham, Guildford ; but I suppose 
the proof would have to be returned to the printers. Virtue 
& Co., City Road. Of this you will no doubt hear. 

C 109. 

"The Vittoria Colonna portrait" must be one of which I possess 
a small engraving, from an original attributed to Michelangelo. 
" The piece of panelling " is a scrap of old wood-carving which I 
had picked up, representing the Creation of Eve. Mr. Madox 
Brown painted it later on into the background of his picture Croni- 
ivell^ Protector of the Vaudois ; here it had a peculiar appropriateness 
for the figure of Milton, in whose house the scene is laid. 


26 February 1873. 

Dear William, 

Referring to my mems. I find that the frame I offered 
you for the Blake is 28^ x 2^\. The first of these measure- 
ments is exactly right for you — the second could easily be 
reduced to 18 by a frame-maker. I think, there is a glass. 
If you used that, it would have to be cut also. 

t'AMILY-LETTERS— 1873- 283 

I only lately (through laziness) sent my Italian sheets to 
Ellis. I suppose you will begin to receive proofs ere long. 
I have told him to send you the original sheets for rectifi- 
cation with the proofs, as / shall not need them. Morley has 
had to defer my notice of Hake to April, as it was longer 
than I had told him to expect. You will then probably get 
the proof. 

I should very much like to see the Vittoria Colonna 
portrait you speak of I believe there are several well-known 
portraits of Vittoria Colonna, notably one by Sebastiano 
del Piombo. 


Thanks about the piece of panelling, which must be an 
unusually good one ; but I don't know that we'd have any 
particular use for it here. It is little worth while fitting up 
places unless we got a better hold on the house. 


B 62. 

Kelmscott, Lechlade. 

7 March 1873. 

My dearest Mother, 

I have been meaning to write to you for ever so long, 
only news is so scarce in this wilderness. I am always 
meaning to take the first chance of coming to town, if only 
for a few days, on purpose to see you ; but day by day I 
find myself busied with work to a degree which might seem 
unlikely at this distance from the centre of things. I have a 
good deal of work in hand, of one kind and another, and have 
hitherto found no impediment to getting ahead with it. I 
take walks regularly. The floods are now gone again, but 
even while they lasted there were the higher fields to walk in, 
which remained free though not over easy walking. Only 
during the heavy snow, which occurred at two intervals, I 
was driven to the roads to walk, which are cheerless and 
monotonous enough. My health continues better than I am 
habitually in London, but I have lately been getting terribly 


fat again, which I fear is the healthy condition with me, 
but is not desirable. I suppose it is partly attributable to 
good appetite, as my walk always precedes dinner by an 
hour or so. 

The other day I received from a Mr. Gates the MS. of a 
short biographical notice of my Father, Avhich he had been 
drawing up for Maunder s Treasury, and wished me to revise 
it. This I did as best I could. He said he had extracted 
the facts from the Biographie Universelle, and they were 
pretty accurate and complete on the whole, though in small 
compass. Your progeny were all named, and I inserted 

I have lately got the BiograpJiie Ge'nerak in 46 vols., 
which Ellis recommended me as the best biographical 
dictionary, — I finding that such a work is a continual 
desideratum. I looked for my Father, however, and he was 
absent ; though apparently present in the Universelle^ which 
would have given it a preference with me. The Universelle 
I seem to have heard of all my life, and suppose they keep 
bringing out new editions and supplying deficiencies. 

I am bringing out again my Italian Poets, as William may 
have told you ; and he will help me in looking over proofs. 
This time I am calling the book Dante and his Circle, to 
direct attention primarily to its Dantesque relation. Proofs 
will come in soon, I believe, but as yet have not appeared. 1 
wish you would ask William, when he goes to Chelsea, to 
look into that very old portfolio of MSS. of mine, and find 
a Canzone of Dante which I translated, but omitted from the 
first edition. The portfolio is in the bottom drawer, furthest 
from the corner wall, of the big bookcase in the studio, and 
the Canzone is, I think, the one beginning in Italian 

" Perche ti piace, Amore, ch'io ritoriii," etc. 

T think, now I am bringing the book out again, I may as 
well insert this, which I omitted formerly as bearing on no 
special event. It should be sent to me here, to insert 
wherever seems best in the proofs. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1873. 285 

I am thinking of translating Michelangelo's Poems at 
spare time ; but find hitherto much less leisure than might 
seem likely. 

The weather here has been brighter and better for the last 
few days. When settled towards summer, or in summer as 
most feasible, perhaps you might manage a visit here with 
Christina, and Maria too if it might be. George will drive 
you, boat you, and punt you, to any extent. He is inex- 
haustibly active out of doors ; and in consequence sometimes 
very sleepy indoors. His good-nature is without end. His 
eyes have been somewhat stronger lately, but any light 
striking on them in bed the first thing in the morning seems 
to set them wrong for the day. He is now reading leisurely 
for his degree at Oxford ; but, the break -down with his sight 
having occurred at the moment when he ought to have tried 
for honours, he will now be able to take only an ordinary 

His father's book seems to be doing well on the whole, as 
regards criticism and sale ; and an article which I have 
written on it is to appear in the FortnigJitly Review for 

No doubt you were sorry to hear of the death of John 
Marshall's boy, I shall write immediately to him, but my 
doing so was deferred by Brown's not having told me which 
son it was he had lost. 

* * * * * , * 

You will be astonished to hear that Howell has been elected 
as Catholic representative to the School Board, and .seems to 
have made some very remarkable debuts at the meetings in 
the way of speechifying — his style being decided and pro- 
bably unexpected. He seems to think he has found his true 
vocation, and that a few|years will see him in Parliament. 

I have heard from time to time of your being poorly, and 
the accounts of Christina have been fluctuating, but never 
very satisfactory. I hope both will benefit by the improve- 
ment which I suppose we may fairly expect ere long in the 


With love to all, and to yourself endless love and re- 
membrance, I remain 

Your most affectionate Son, 


I suppose your accounts of poor Henrietta continue much 
as before. My love to her and her father when you write. 

C no. 

Joaquin, here named, is Mr. Joaquin Miller, the American poet. 
He dedicated one of his volumes " To the Rossettis." 


Friday 22 March 1873.] 

Dear William, 

Thanks for suggestions. On getting your proofs, I 
sent on my proofs B and C to Strangeways the printers, 
having embodied your corrections in them. But the plan 
you propose is the shortest, and I will write to Ellis to 
adopt it. 

I forgot before to say that, my Hake notice having been 
deferred from the March number to the April one, and full 
time thus obtained, Morley sent me the proof to correct 
lately, and I returned it. 

I suppose you have not a copy of Vittoria Colonna's 
own poems. I have been applying for one to Ellis, but 
hitherto he has only found a very expensive one which I 
don't care to pay for. 

I heard yesterday from . . . Joaquin, with a request that 
I would write a verse at the bottom of a photo of myself 
(for which there was no room), and join my consent to yours 
about a dedication. ... I had rather not be dedicated to, 
if there was any available reason for saying so. However, 
there is none, so it must come out. 


D. Gabriel R. 

P.S. — I really should like to try a few days' run to Italy 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1873. 287 

with you this year if feasible, but hardly think it will 
prove so. 

P.P.S. — When Stephens proposed to wriie about my 
picture again, do you think he certainly meant without its 
being exhibited ? 

* * * * * * 

Please when next at Chelsea send me by post my copy of 
the Shadow of Dante. 

Kelmscott, Lechlade. 

27 March 1873. 

My dearest Mother, 

I hear with great anxiety from Maria that you have 
been suffering from an attack of influenza, and that you are 
still in bed. I hope Maria will continue to let me know 
regularly how you are. I trust, however, that the next news 
may be decidedly favourable. 

The weather is very much finer here within some days 
past, and I suppose the same is probably the case in London, 
so I heartily trust that this may have a beneficial effect on 
a complaint like influenza. 

I have most unaccountably mislaid Maria's letter ; but 
believe there was only one question in it, relating to the 
photograph of my drawing of Mary Magdalene. I believe 
there must be a few copies at Chelsea, but fear they are not 
good ones. I am writing to Dunn to look them up, and will 
let Maria know when I hear. The photo was not taken by 
Parsons, but long ago by Thurston Thompson, who is since 
dead. His widow still has the negative, which is my property, 
and prints from it when necessary. Her address is 

Mrs. Thompson 
The Residences 

South Kensington Museum. 
I think the number is i, but am not certain. I will, however, 
write myself if there is no available proof at Chelsea. 

I am meaning to dedicate to you the new edition of my 


Italian Poets. The first was dedicated to poor Lizzy, and 
I had some thought of retaining the dedication with date ; 
but, this seeming perhaps rather forced, I shall substitute 
your dear name in the second edition. 
Hoping to hear a better account soon, 

I am ever 

Your most loving Son, 

D. Gabriel R. 

P.S. — I must really tell you about Dizzy, George's dog. 
Some evenings back he was lying by the fire in my studio, 
when George, who was going to bed, roused him to accom- 
pany him, as he generally does. Dizzy, however, was unwilling 
to quit the fire, and at last got so nasty and wicked that he 
bit George in the thumb. He was then locked up for the 
night in the coldest place that could be found. 

In the morning he trotted into the breakfast-room as usual, 
but was received with shouts of obloquy, upon which he 
turned tail at once and fled. At dinner the same day he 
reappeared ; whereupon we tied him to the leg of the piano, 
and had in another dog who is here, called Turvy. We set a 
plate just out of Dizzy's reach, and fed Turvy with three 
successive helps of beef and macaroni, between each of which 
Dizzy's feelings found vent in " voci alte e fioche." After this 
Turvy was much caressed, and every now and then left us, to 
walk leisurely round Dizzy and survey him as an accessory 
deserving of passing notice. Dizzy has been a convict ever 
since, and knows it. This morning, on entering the breakfast- 
room, I found him rolled up on the mat before the fire, and, 
being occupied with other things, for the moment forgot his 
position. On my appearance, he raised his head in doubt, 
but, when I sat down and said nothing, he let his head drop 
again on the mat with an air of luxurious relief This served 
as a reminder, and I shrieked, " What, not Dizzy ! " in such 
tones that he arose in a moment and fled to the shades with 
an expression of anguish which cannot be described. T think 
the ban will soon have to be taken off him now. At present 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 873 289 

the only relaxation is that he is allowed to accompany us in 
our walks, but without recognition from us. One only has 
to show one's thumb to him, and his sins fall back on his 
head in a moment, and drive him into solitude. 

B 64. 

Kelmscott, Lechlade. 

29 March 1873. 

My dearest Mother, 

I am most glad to hear to-day from William that you 
are progressing favourably. I enclose a carte-de-visite of the 
baby hippopotamus, who seems to be supremely comic. He 
is something like Dizzy, of whom I must tell you a further 
anecdote. We are beginning to rehabilitate him gradually, 
and the other morning at breakfast I told George to rub 
some kidney-gravy on the thumb which Dizzy had bitten, 
and see if he would lick it off. He would not touch it, but 
hung his head piteously ; though, as soon as the end of a 
finger instead was dipped in the gravy, he licked it up 
greedily. The same experiment was tried with each of the 
three or four places in which he had slightly bitten George, 
but he would not lick the gravy off any one of them. 

B 65. 

Kelmscott, I/Echlade. 

6 April 1873. 

My dearest Mother, 

I meant to have written before this to say how good a 
hearing it is to me to learn of your improvement, and, I trust 
I may say, recovery. But I have been unusually busy, as I 
have got a model — Miss Wilding — down to paint from. 
Dunn is here also, and is doing some work for me. I have 
nearly completed my picture of Proserpine, which had been 
lying by lately ; and I believe it is about the best thing I 
have done. 

Dizzy has been reinstated in his public position, but on 
sanitary accounts has been put chiefly on a diet of dog- 

VOL. n. 19 


biscuit. When served to him, he shows a complete superi- 
ority to the subject, and examines every other corner of the 
room as long as any one is in it, thinking that possibly some 
other entree may be in reserve ; but, as soon as the last back 
is turned and the last hope fled, he turns-to instantly like a 
philosopher, and demolishes the dog-biscuit. No fewer than 
two more dogs have recently been added to the staff of this 
mansion. One is Nero, a splendid black retriever, whose 
colour alone makes the name bearable from an Italian point 
of view ; but 1 suppose he wouldn't answer to another, though 
as yet but a young dog. His action and expression are 
really splendid, and George finds him very useful when he 
shoots. The second dog is Jemmy, a funny sort of a rough 
terrier with long hair, and an apologetic St. Vitus's style of 
movement which suggests ill-treatment in previous abodes. 
George is going to make a present of him to some one. The 
result of these additions to the household is that, wherever 
George meets poor Dizzy, he bow-wows at his heels in an 
enquiring tone, as much as to say, "What, more dogs? 
Explain ! " To-day all three accompanied George on a 
fifteen-mile walk. I fear the above caninities exhaust the 
Kelmscott budget of news, and that I have only left to say 
(with love to all and thanks for Christina's letter) how much 
I am always 

Your most affectionate Son, 



The opening of this letter relates to a detail in Rossetti's book 

Dante and his Circle. I need not enter here into the minutise. 

They are referred to in a note of mine to the Collected Works 

(Vol. II., p. 518). The "Article on Painting in Quarterly'" was 

written by Mr. William Davies : I do not remember reading it. 

Tuesday [6 Alay 1873]. 

Dear William, 

I don't half like that hitch in my note about Avolino 
and Agiiglino. I was certainly aware that aquilino was the 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 873. 29I 

name of a coin, since Cccco Angiolieri uses it ; and I could 
almost swear that I looked for it in that sense (in connexion 
with this Forese matter) in the dictionary, but could not 

find it. 

* * * * *- * 

Ever yours, 

D. G. R. 

P.S. — I at last to-day send 50 guineas to Marshall, which 
I ought to have done long ago ; but partly have been always 
short of tin, and partly Brown thought it would be better, 
if possible, to paint or draw some family-portrait for him — 
but this would never come about, now I live here. 

Have you seen some article on Painting in Qum'terly ? It 
seems I am not more blackguarded than other people ! 

* * * * * # 

B 66. 

Towards the close of this letter a question is raised as to a date, 
1847, inscribed on a medal of our Father. This was a medal struck 
in Italy, the artist being Signer Niccolb Cerbara — a fine piece of 
work. The true explanation of the date is that the medal was struck 
soon after the publication, 1846, of our Father's poem // Veggente 
in Solitudine, which, being a strong manifesto of patriotic feeling, 
anti-papal and anti-Austrian, excited a great sensation in Italy, where 
its circulation was of course clandestine, but not the less extensive. 
My brother must have been mistaken, apparently, in supposing that 
the portrait of our Father which he painted in 1848 could have guided 
the artist of the medal. The true date of the oil-picture was 1848 — 
not 1847, ^s named by my brother. 

Kelmscott, Lechlade. 

20 May 1873. 

My dearest Mother, 

I have only learned to-day the distressing news of 
Maria's illness, which, however, I trust there is every reason 
to believe has taken a turn towards assured recovery. Will 
you give her my love, and say how grieved I am to know 
that she has been suffering so much ? 


I hear you have been back in London since Friday last, 
and that Christina follows to-day. Would you be disposed 
ere long for a trip hither, if all be propitious ? and how many 
could come ? At present the house is not free, but will be so 
soon, I believe. The only difficulty then might be the possible 
necessity of my getting a model down here to paint from — 
but there might be an interval, and it would give me very 
great pleasure to see you here when feasible. 

The weather gives occasional symptoms of thorough re- 
vival, but then falls back again. Last night there was a frost 
with ice ! yet to-day it is sunny and fine, though not very 
warm. The apple-blossom in our orchard has been in full 
glory, and is still delicious, and everything, is most lovely. 
I shall try if I can pack you a bouquet safely to Euston 
Square to-day, including wild flowers — especially the yellow 
Mary-buds (or marsh-marigolds), which are most splendid in 
the fields wherever the floods have been most persistent. By 
the bye, I wrote a Sonnet on Spring lately, and will copy it 
at end of this letter. The Athencsum people asked me for 
some verses the other day, and I didn't like to refuse, so a 
little piece of mine will be in their next number. It is one 
I wrote when first I came here, and embodies a habit of the 
starlings which quite amounts to a local phenomenon, and is 
most beautiful and interesting daily towards sunset for 
months together in summer and autumn. 

I am glad William is bound for Italy, and really still feel 
sudden impulses to accompany him, but suppose I cannot 
well do so. . . . I am glad to hear Lucy is going, though old 
Scotus seems quite sulky about it. Don't let William tell 
him I said this, as he is able to hate one now on the slightest 
provocation. How nice it would have been if William, I, 
and old Brown, could have gone together ! 

Your dear birthday passed me by without epistolary notice 
from me (most blameably). The fact is, I thought of it 
more than once beforehand, and often since, but the right 
moment slipped by somehow. I have been meaning to 
write ever since. 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 873- 293 

Can you in any way account for the date 1847 on that 
medal of my Father ? I am glad to have it, and find that, 
if one shuts off about a third of the length of the chin,, it has 
something decided in the way of likeness. 

By the bye, I know you are a great keeper of family-relics, 
and the other day found here a little portrait of myself as a 
child, which you once lent me two years ago, and which ought 
to have been returned before. Shall I send it ? At the same 
time I would ask you for something else in the same line if 
you have it. I remember that for the family Hotch Potch, 
long and long ago, I first wrote TJie Blessed Dainozel, and 
also a poem about a portrait. Have you these ancient 
documents, and could you let me have the same if in my own 
handwriting ? Not, however, if you set store by them. What 
is the date thereof? 

I hope Christina reached London safely ere this, and 
am, with truest love, 

Your affectionate Son, 

D. Gabriel R. 

The medal is the more puzzling as I suppose the authority 
was in great measure the photo from that head I painted, 
which was one sent there lately. But why 1847 ? 

It suddenly strikes me that, 1847 having been the date of 
the portrait, this might be a sort of reason, though a very 
stupid one. 

C 112. 

Kelmscott, Lechlade. 
10 J7ily 1873. 

My dear William, 

You will not doubt how heartily I rejoice in your 
engagement to Lucy. I really believe there is not in the 
whole of our circle a woman on whose excellence all of 
us could place such perfect reliance, or of whom we should 
feel so sure that she would make you happy. Both our 
Mother and Brown are, I am sure, absolutely delighted with 


the prospect. Will you give Lucy my sincere love, and say 
I wish I were worthier to be her brother and yours ? 

My mother has been thoroughly enjoying herself here, 
I am sure ; and it is curious that both she and Christina have 
happened more than once to speak very strongly in Lucy's 
praise, and express their love for her very warmly. I just 
now told George Hake of the engagement, and he said that 
yesterday in the boat my Mother was saying to him that she 
valued Lucy more than any woman she knew. 

Christina has plucked up in an extraordinary way out 
here, and is quite active and natural again. Even in appear- 
ance there is an improvement. 

My work goes on well ; and I find I have no difficulty, 
with Howell's assistance as salesman in London, in disposing 
of what I do to as much advantage as ever, without the 
awkwardness of writing to purchasers much myself, which 
might otherwise be so nauseous as seriously to stand in the 
way of business. I have several things in hand, some sold, 
some not, and shall soon be much better stocked with tin 
than my wont. 

Brown has begun a very fine picture of Cromwell on his 
Farm. He has begun putting in the material straight from 
Nature, with great vigour and fine tone, and I would almost 
say that it promises to be his very best picture. 

B 67. 

19 July 1873. 


I was very glad to hear that you reached London in 

It is a privation not to see your dear old self trotting 
about the gardens, and the time we spent here, with Christina, 
was a most grateful one to me. That it may recur before 
long is one of my warmest wishes. 

The accounts of George are good, and I believe there is 
no doubt that he will be here again on Monday next. The 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1873. 295 

children, who came yesterday with Janey, will be short of 
their habitual larks till he appears. Both look much in 
need of country air. . . . Janey looks wonderfully well, I 
think, but does not seem over strong. She sends kindest 

The window of the little drawing-room, at which I often 
used to see your darling head from the garden, now shows 
on inspection a dismantled room, everything having been 
removed, — the furniture to the large drawing-room, my 
former studio, and the drawings to my present studio in 
the tapestry-room, where they go along the whole of one 
wall, and look better than ever they looked before, with the 
fine dim tone of the tapestry behind them. 

In the drawing-room great effects have been produced. 
That beautiful cast of Psyche (which I dare say you noticed) 
has been put on a shelf, with another shelf beneath it con- 
taining the Hastings earthenware pig, which may serve as a 
sort of monogram signature to the statue — Pj/^malion !!!... 

The white lily in the garden has grown to a perfect 
decorative cluster now, and is most divinely lovely. Another 
white lily is developing also, but the others which excited 
your curiosity remain as yet unexplained. Janey planted 
them, and believes them to be tiger-lilies. St. Swithin should 
be called St. Swindler this year, for he has beneficently 
cheated us. There has not been a drop of rain since his 
ominous downfall. 


Love to all, Lucy included. 

Take care of your dear funny old self, and believe me 

Your most loving Son, 

D. Gabriel R. 

C 113. 

The " very serious step " of our sister Maria was her entering 
the All Saints' Sisterhood (Anglican) as a novice, and in due course 
as a professed member. 



6 September 1873. 

Dear William, 

A reduced replica is being scaled out for me at 
Chelsea from the large Dante s Dream, which is now there ; 
and I have a request from Graham to let him have the 
replica when done instead of the original, as being more 
convenient to hang in a room. Thus the original returns to 
me for second sale, and Howell is seeing about it for me. 
Have you that article Stephens wrote on the picture in 
At/iencBiun} Howell wants it much for use. If you have or 
can get it, please kindly at once send it him. I suppose it 
must have been somewhere towards end of 1871 or beginning 
of 1872. 


I hear to-day from Maria about her very serious step, 
and with an intimation of her renewed illness, which seems 
to make such a step still more serious. I must answer as 
soon as may be. 
In haste. 

Your affectionate 

D. G. R. 

B 68. 

The picture mentioned at the beginning of this letter is La 

Kelmscott, Lechlade. 

13 Septejnber 1873. 

My dearest Mother, 

It is long since I have written you, I fear ; chiefly 
because there is little to tell, and to convey correct notions of 
that little from a distance is a roundabout proceeding when 
the only thing one does is one's daily work. I am now 
putting the last touches to the picture I began from Miss 
Wilding when you were here. It has turned out about my 
best, I think, but of course has taken me much longer than 
I looked for, little else having been accomplished since I saw 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 873- 297 

you. Little May Morris appears twice in the picture, as a 
couple of angels. She has become a most lovely model, but 
her health is a constant subject of anxiety. 

I judge that since Thursday Maria is no longer an inmate 
of Euston Square. She will indeed be a great loss, being 
much the healthiest in mind and cheeriest of us all, except 
yourself. William comes next, and Christina and I are 
nowhere. I suppose of course she will appear duly at our 
Christmas gathering, will she not? I am quite uncertain 
now whether I am likely to see you again before that date. 
Work thickens round one, wherever one is ; and where one's 
work is, there one must be. My new picture is to go to my 
good friend Graham, who wants to have it this month in 
Scotland if possible, as his house is full of visitors. 

I look back often with the keenest pleasure to the time of 
your stay here. The amount of enjoyment you get out of 
the simplest things is indeed a rebuke to the younger ones 
around you. I never told you yet that the tall flowers you 
felt curious about turned out to be tiger-lilies, and, being 
pretty numerous, made a fine show when in bloom, as a few 
of them still are. But the garden is fading fast now,— the 
most noticeable things at present being some most curious 
flowers growing on long stems. [Here a sketch of the flowers 
is given.] They are a bright red at top and a paler flame- 
colour below, and are here familiarly termed red-hot-pokers, 
but I have some reason to believe that their real name is 
Ixia. Do you know them ? They are perhaps more like 
foxes' tails than anything else. We have a nice garden- 
seat now in the arbour opposite the front door and porch of 
the yew-hedge. I often regret that it was not there during 
your visit, but will not doubt your sitting in it yet. The 
river-growths have continued to develop one after the other. 
The arrow-head rush put forth eventually a most lovely staff 
of blossoms just like a little sceptre. [Here follows a sketch.] 
The way that the white blossom grows triple round the 
staff is most lovely, and the whole might really be copied 
exactly in gold for a sceptre. 


On Thursday George was at a wedding at Manchester, 
and during his absence Dizzy returned for a while to his 
cuneiform stage of aspect and demeanour. He has been very 
funny in various ways. On one occasion we got a musical 
instrument — a dulcimer, which lies flat on the ground — and 
put a bit of sugar on the strings. Then, as Dizzy approached 
to take it, the strings were immediately struck with the plec- 
trum, and the contest of terror and appetite in Dizzy's bosom 
was delicious. On one occasion an attempt was made, in his 
interest, to reduce him to a diet of dog-biscuit. He became 
gradually more and more dejected, until one morning he ate 
a stone instead, which, reappearing on the hearthrug, convinced 
his master that he must not be reduced to despair again. 
Whenever he wants to be petted, his plan is to eat a bit of 
crab-apple, or something he obviously would not eat if he 
could help it. An outcry of compassion is the immediate 
result, followed by successive courses of kidneys, mac- 
caroni, etc. 

I was asking Brown to come down here for a day or so, 
and shall probably fix a date with him in a post or two. 
Do you think William and Lucy would come also ? The 
weather is pretty good on the whole just now as a rule, 
though to-day there was a good deal of rain. 


George desires to be most kindly remembered to you. . . . 
You probably know that his father has gone to Italy : the last 
we heard of him was from Genoa, which seems to rouse his 
British sanitary terrors to no small extent. 

I'll enclose you some photographs of little May to look at. 
Please send them me back, as they may be of use to me in 

Your most loving Son, 

Love to M[aria], W[illiam], and C[hristina]. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 873. 299 

C 114. 


Tuesday [23 Sepfembef 1873]. 

Dear William, 

Thanks for sending on letters. Will you open all 
Dunn sends you, and see if they should be sent on or not ? 

I am very sorry you could not come with Lucy, but I know 
you have no holiday before the end of the year. I have 
finished my picture for Graham, and think it is the best I 
have done so should have liked to show it you. However, I 
dare say there will be some other chance. 

Your affectionate 


I don't know if there's anything at Chelsea that would be 
of service to you in furnishing ; but if so it could probably 
be spared, and you would be most welcome to it. 

C 115. 
Two books are mentioned here : The Shepherd's Garden, by Mr. 
William Davies, for some years a very cordial friend of my brother ; 
and Gabriel Denver, by Oliver Madox Brown. The idea that our 
sister would not be allowed a fire at the All Saints' Home turned out 
to be erroneous. The stricter rule of the Sisterhood was relaxed in 
her favour. 

Thursday [13 November 1873]. 

Dear William, 

There is no Italian word — is there? — to express the 
fall of the year, as Capodanno expresses the beginning : 
Cascadanno, or Cadifoglia (both of course absurd), or some- 
thing of that sort. 

« * # * * * 

If you find a book sent for me called TJie Shepherd's 
Garden, please send it on. No doubt you agree with me that 
Nolly's story is quite miraculous. I should think he would 
get into a swing of regular income by this sort of work 
very soon, 


Love to all at home. I have really felt very sincerely 
anxious about Maria since what you tell me of no fires in 
this blessed place. I simply could not exist on such terms — 
it would be a noviciate for another world ; and I view the 
matter as most serious for her. 

B 69. 

18 December 1873. 

Darling Teaksicum, 

I wrote to my wine-merchant to send Christina two 
dozen Champagne like mine. 

* ^i * * *■ * 

I supposed Christina might not be well enough to be 
visible in the morning when I left Euston Square, but now 
fear that I forgot to remit her my love in leaving. Still, as 
she had it already, perhaps this does not matter. I hope she 
is no worse since ; and trust to see you all again on the 24th, 
including Sister Maria Francesca. I shall probably sleep at 
Euston Square on the night of 24th, if suiting you. 

It is no use to wear out your loving eyes with a wade 
through Dante and his Circle, as it is just the same as the old 
edition, except for transpositions of arrangement and for 
minor revisions. The only addition worth naming is a 
Canzone by Dante, page 115. 

C 116. 

Mr. Madox Brown's two Lectures were on Invention in Art. He 
was " on his back " through an attack of gout. " My Blake " is the 
Aldine Edition of William Blake's Poems, prefaced by a memoir 
which I had recently written. 

15 January 1874. 

Dear William, 

Brown was here the other day, and read me his two 
Lectures, which are full of excellences. But in minor points 
they are shaky here and there, delivery especially. . , , 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 874. 30I 

Could you not suggest to Brown an official home-reading for 
this purpose, and to try his powers of delivery before the 
actual moment ? He seemed to clip his words, and run one 
sentence into another. 

I have no news in particular, and merely just write on this 
point. I hope things are pretty well at home. By the bye, 
I am sorry to learn that since Brown got home he is on his 
back again. 

Your affectionate 

D. G. R. 

When will your Blake be out ? Brown was very loud in 
its praise, and I am anxious to see it. 

C 117. 

The subscription which my brother forwarded with this letter was 
(if I remember right) ;/^2o. 

Kelmscott, Lechlade. 

18 January 1874. 

My dear William, 

Ever since I heard of poor Hannay's death, I have 
been wishing to learn something as to his family. You tell 
me that the circular you send reaches you through Sutherland 
Edwards. I should have expected to find him among the 
foremost of Hannay's old friends at such a need, but hardly 
to find him the only one. What has become of the others ? 
But I suppose of course the subscriptions noted in MS. on 
the circular are not all that have been yet received. 

I enclose a subscription, which please forward. It seems 
to me, however, that this private effort can hardly hope to 
provide for the " maintenance and education during a certain 
number of years " of three children, unless it progresses with 
unusual success. I am anxious to know whether the children, 
or their elder brothers and sisters, have any special wishes or 
views as to the course to be taken, and should be extremely 
glad to hear anything on this head, and to aid at any time in 
any way in my power. I'see Mr. J. L. Hannay's name in the 


printed list. Is he not now a Police-magistrate? Surely 
some influence might be exerted to provide proper education 
at least for these three children or for some of them, without 
outlay : their father's name should command this. 

Of course any help I could render would be always limited 
enough. But at any rate I have no family of my own to 
provide for, and am therefore doubly bound to do what I can 
for an old friend's children. 

C ii8. 

Lord Derby (the Peer deceased in 1892) had known Mr. Hannay 

in some political matters, especially matters of parliamentary candi- 

dateship. Mr. Ormsby, a bright writer on the press, died some 

years ago. Dr. Steele, a physician, had been intimate with Hannay 

in Edinburgh : he is now, I think, in Rome.- Being brother to 

the lady then married to our cousin Teodorico Pietrocola-Rossetti, 

he has a distant family-connexion with us. 

18 Jamcary 1874. 

Dear William, 

Some time ago I remember hearing ... of the Mr. 
Gruneisen who receives subscriptions for the Hannay fund. 
If you think it best to send enclosed cheque to him, do so. 
I have accompanied it with a letter which you might, if 
you thought it advisable, send on to Edwards (in case you 
sent him the subscription), as indeed it seems to me some 
steps should be taken to get these children into some institu- 
tion, to be educated. Surely this could be done. Do you 
know if Lord Derby has been appealed to ? Don't of course 
bother to send the letter to any one, if not convenient to you, 
but the present subscription appears to me likely to be a 
very slow process. How is it Ormsby does not appear ? and 
Steele ? 

C 119. 

Mr. Madox Brown had undertaken to deliver in Birmingham the 
lectures mentioned in C 116. Being at this time much disabled by 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 874. 3O3 

gout, he was thinking of getting the lectures read out by his son, in 
his own stead. But eventually, with a severe struggle, he managed 
for himself. " Jenny fille " is the elder daughter of Mr. Morris. 


14 February 1874. 

My dear William, 

Your news of Brown is still of an uncomfortable kind. 
I suppose the lecture-question must be settled by the time 
this reaches you. The idea of Nolly's going seems totally 
impossible. In a lecture the sight of the Lecturer himself is 
a principal ingredient; and surely Nolly has no habit or 
faculty of delivery whatever. 

The date fixed for your wedding is much about what I 
expected. I am sure that on this subject it would be quite 
impossible for you or Lucy to mistake my true feeling ; but 
1 have already said that I should not feel equal to coming, 
unless the party were strictly confined to old friends without 
admixture of new acquaintances. Otherwise I would hope 
for and rely on the more congenial kind of meeting which we 
might have here if (as I trust will not fail me) you can both 
come down at an early date. 

At present I am going about with a black patch over my 
nose. Last night Jenny _/?//^ and I agreed to shriek at the 
same moment (one " Creepy " and the other " Crawly ") in 
Dizzy's two ears, while May beat a tattoo on the top of his 
head. The instant result was that he turned round howling, 
and bit me (fortunately not Jenny) across the nose ; at which 
I am not surprised. 


D. G. R. 

Love to all at home. 

B 70. 


23 February 1874. 

My dearest Mother, 

I have often and often thought of you since we last 
met, — always whenever my path in the garden lies by the 


window of that summer-room at which I used to see your 
dear beautiful old face last summer, reading or enjoying the 
garden prospect. That room is out of use now, as one cannot 
make anything of it in the winter ; but I do warmly hope 
that we may renew this coming summer the very happy 
days we had here last year, and find that room a cheerful 
and pleasant resort again. It would make us all happy 
to see Christina pluck up once more as she did the last 

To-day the little Morris girls collected all the flowers we 
could find in the garden, no very choice gleaning — and they 
were sent on to you, so perhaps you have them ere this 
reaches you. I know they will be better than nothing to 
your flower-loving heart. This extremely mild winter causes 
many things to be very forward already. The children were 
quite sorry afterwards that they had omitted to send you 
some branches of the palm-willow, with its furry buds not 
yet as yellow as they will be. The gum-cistus you planted 
thrives, but of course is very gradual in growth. 

My good friend Graham has had a severe attack of illness, 
resulting chiefly I suppose from over-work, and has not 
gone in again for Parliament. His improvement has been 
slow, but he may now be considered well again at present. 
He is marrying one of his daughters on the 26th, and George 
Hake will take up a picture on Wednesday 25th to him, 
which I have been getting done in time to figure at the 
wedding. It is one of little Annie, the niece of the Cumleys, 
whom you may remember ; indeed you will perhaps call to 
mind the beginning of the picture, which I took in hand last 
Spring, but have only just resumed and finished. It repre- 
sents a young girl putting a jar containing Mary-buds on a 
mantelshelf. There is a great deal of accessory work in it 
now — including a black kitten playing with a ball of thread ; 
and in pictorial qualities I think it is as successful as any of 
mine. I call it TJie Bower Maiden. Graham is still most 
affectionate, and seems to take such delight in what I paint 
that it is a pleasure to work for him. George also takes up 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 874. 305 

Proserpi7te to Leyland ; this, which you saw but which has 
since been vastly improved, is, I think, perhaps my best picture. 
I have various other things in hand — one with three heads 
of lovely little May Morris ; and the Roman Widow picture, 
for which you saw a study, will I hope soon be very forward 

I have been very sorry to hear of Brown's unsatisfactory 
health, I don't yet clearly understand what sort of wedding- 
party it will be on the 31st March. ... If a crowd of new 
acquaintances . . . are to be assembled, I have told William 
that I am not equal to such a gathering, and he has most 
kindly taken the announcement in good part. If, on the 
other hand, the matter is limited to old friends, I should hope 
to be there. 

Dizzy has had a green velvet coat made for him, and 
walked about the dinner-table to-day like dog Toby. Per- 
haps William told you of his biting me, but it was quite 
my own fault, as I was teazing him past bearing. The bite 
is all right now. 

Good-bye, dearest darling. I'll enclose a Winter Sonnet 
written lately. 

Your loving 


Love to dear good Maggie when you see her. 

C 120, 

My marriage with Miss Madox Brown was now fixed for 3 1 March ; 
and Brown's arrangement was to bespeak a large evening-party for 
the 30th, and to invite to the wedding-breakfast the various members 
of the two families, without any one else. It is to this arrangement 
that my brother's note refers. 

He never found out, I think, who was the donor of the Resurrec- 
tion picture. After a while he gave it (if memory serves me) to our 
sister Maria, and I presume that it is still the property of the All 
Saints' Sisterhood. 

VOL. II. 20 


Friday [13 March 1874]. 

Dear William, 


I am most grieved to hear that Brown continues 
disabled and ailing. It is a sore trial for him and his. I am 
most loth, even to great regret, to be away from the party on 
the eve of your wedding ; but the fact is that, at such a 
gathering as you indicate, every bore I know and don't know 
would swoop down on me after these two years' absence, and 
I am not equal to it, now that solitude is the habit of my life. 
I cannot say that a breakfast of unknown relations smiles on 
me either, any more than on you ; but that is unavoidable, 
so there's an end. I cannot see what is the object of Brown's 
getting together all the relations he never sees. 

Your affectionate Brother, 


Did I tell you that some unknown party has sent me a 
little Resurrection on panel by Pietro Laurati ? It is very 
good in its way, and really fine colour. Quite genuine, no 
doubt. Who has sent it, or why, I cannot imagine. 

C 121. 

Rossetti did not ever produce his proposed picture of Madonna 
Pietra — who is one of the ladies with whom Dante is (rather 
dubiously) reputed to have been in love during his exile. My 
brother made a slight pen-and-ink sketch of the subject — also a 
nude study for it. 


21 March 1874.] 

Have you among your photographic slides or other 
photos any representing rocks and water, chiefly distant — 
something in the way of the background to Lionardo's Lady 
of the Rocks! Of course I mean from Nature. ■ If so, could 
you keep it for me when I see you. Or a circle of hills also ? 
I want these things for background of Madonna Pietra 
from Dante's Sestina. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1874. 307 

B 71. 
Christina's " little book " is her volume of prayers entitled Annus 


16 April 1874. 

My dearest Mother, 

* * # * * * 

I enclose a letter from Lucy in W[ilHam]'s hand- 
writing which Nolly, who is here, had in his pocket. I 
thought you might like to see it. Nolly has been here a 
week now. He came down with Hueffer, both walking a 
considerable part of the way, and then coming on by rail. 
Hueffer went home in two or three days, and Nolly will 
now shortly leave, I suppose. 

I am glad Maria is with you. My love to her, as well as 
to Christina, and thanks to the latter for her little book. As 
far as I have seen the contents, I think them fervent and 
beautiful. I should judge it possible that the book might 
prove widely acceptable. . . . 

The country is getting genial and pleasant. Many flowers 
are coming out — abundant daffodils in the garden, Mary-buds 
all over the fields near the river — and the island by the boat- 
house is rich in wild periwinkles, a large beautiful blue- 
purple flower. I must try and send you some gleanings. 

I am engaged still in painting the Roman Widow subject, 
which goes on well. . . . Do you happen to have anywhere 
any tortoise-shell article of that very bright tint, strong dark 
spots on a light-yellow ground, which one sometimes sees, 
reminding one a little of a panther's skin ? I mean to make 
the surface of the two harps on which the Roman Widow 
plays of tortoise-shell thus tinted. 

B 72. 

23 April 1874. 

My dearest Mother, 

Many thanks for loan of the card-case. It is just 
about the tint I meant, and no doubt will be very useful. 

I will take greatest care of it. 


W/if, WHY, WHY did you not come to Kelmscott, if you 
had to leave town ? The weather is divine here now, and 
everything lovely, . . . 

Your most loving 


I think the poem in Annus Domini most excellent, like all 
Christina's religious poetry. Nolly took the book up while 
here, and was struck by the beauty of the prayers. 

B 73. 

17 May 1874. 

My DEAREST Mother, 

I return William's letter, and am heartily glad to think 
how thoroughly he has enjoyed his honeymoon. I do trust 
that his somewhat monotonous existence hitherto will now 
assume a brighter and warmer tone for him. No man 
deserves happiness more, or is better adapted to give and 
receive it. I must say the recurrence of colds and such-like 
with Lucy seems to me an anxious matter, and one to be 
guarded against. I fear her constitution is anything but 
strong ; indeed, she hardly ever seems quite free from some- 
thing of this sort. 

* * * * * # 

I do not realize William's raptures about Vesuvius in the 
absence of any fireworks. I suppose what he so much enjoyed 
must have been the prospect ; but of course, never having 
been there, I do not realize the situation. 

That old white Annunciation of mine has passed into the 
possession of my friend Graham, who bought it of the mighty 
Agnew, its purchaser in the sale-room. 

I should have finished the Roman Widow picture ere this, 
but that I am at a standstill for want of roses. Meanwhile I 
am getting to other things. 

You will be amused to hear that we have got a little tame 
owl. When caught, he was in a nest with two others. One 
escaped, and the other two became ours ; biit, during the very 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1874. 3^9 

first day of their being here, one was lost through carelessness. 
The other remains. He was quite young at first — about two 
or three weeks old — and so covered with a sort of furry moss 
that I christened him Mossy. Now that he is growing up, 
he does not seem to be a barn-owl, but something more like 
the lost' lamented Bobby, only not so dark, and his eyes, 
though large and fine, not quite so softly expressive. We 
keep him upstairs in an attic, where he begins now to fly 
about, and George feeds him twice a day. Sometimes he 
comes down to meals, and sits on the table. One can stroke 
him and handle him, and I suppose he will remain quite 

The Winter Sonnet you liked, and the one on Spring, I 
have sent to the Athenmun, where they will appear Saturday 
after next. 

With love to yourself and to my Sisters, I am 
Ever your most affectionate 


P.S. — Your birthday seldom escapes my memory, but I am 
ashamed to say that this year it somehow did. All warmest 
wishes now. 

C 122. 

" Christina's title " applied to the book of prose stories which was 
published in 1874 under the name of Speaking Likenesses : the title 
previously chosen was Nowhere. The bedroom in the Euston 
Square house was shortly fitted up for my brother as he wished, but 
he never occupied it : had he done so from time to time, this would 
probably have conduced not a little to the comfort and cheerfulness 
of his closing years. 

Wednesday {May 1874]. 

My dear William, 

I had just been answering a letter received from Brown 
this morning as to your proposed visit, and answering it (alas 
by compulsion) negatively. I think I had better enclose it, 


and you can hand it to him afterwards. Thus I need not 
recapitulate what vexes me most extremely, as I am sure you 
know ; but you will see with me that the moment would be 
of unique inopportuneness in the whole year. I shall never- 
theless hope for a rapid run-down here from you and Lucy, 
when Brown (and I trust our people) may be with me. 

Christina's title seems unlucky because of that free-thinking 
book called Erewhon, which is " Nowhere " inverted. The 
title would seem a little stale ; I should change it. 

You know we spoke of my retaining as my bedroom at 
Euston Square, when I can come there, that little room at 
the top where I used to sleep. For this a comfortable iron 
bedstead, a bath, and otherwise the simplest accommodations, 
would be needed. You see, never getting sight of you all 
now, I should like sometimes, when I do come to town, to 
take this means of being with you awhile, as well as at 
Chelsea. Could you give me at leisure a notion of what 
would remain to be got for this purpose (for I think you said 
that, as to the room, it might be mine) ? and I would send the 
needful, if Lucy would kindly take the small matter in hand. 

Your loving 


Your letter reached me mid-day by hand. 

H I. 

From this point onwards I include a few letters addressed to my 
wife. " The little old Annunciation " had been received by Gabriel 
from its then owner Mr. Graham, and he re -worked upon it to 
some extent, but only a very moderate one. Mr. Brown's " Cardiff 
portrait" was a portrait (I consider) of a local gentleman, Mr. 
Riches; it was engraved in 1893. Or possibly it was a portrait of 
Mr. David Davies, who became M.P., or of Mrs. Davies. 

23 Mav 1874. 

My dear Lucy, 

How very kind of you to write at such a busy moment 
about my requirements ! I will forward ^20 ere long for the 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 874- 3*1 

purposes of the bedroom, and have no doubt that all your 
arrangements will be perfection. I prefer a chair-shaped 
bath if attainable — or should one buy a coal-scuttle shape ? 
Bedstead might be not quite so exiguous in width as the 
Euston-Squarites seem to affect, but still quite cheap and 
simple. Thanks about curtains and carpet, which I had not 
thought of ; of course drugget or anything will do. The rest, 
just a washstand of any kind, and a Spartan chair or two, 
with a ditto table of some sort perhaps ; but this hardly 
needed, if washstand suffices without it. 

It will be a great pleasure when I do see you both here — I 
trust, in improved weather. Yesterday I went for a walk 
rather earlier than usual, and was astounded to find every- 
thing changed for warmer and brighter — wind south-west, 
and swarms of dragon-flies round one's head — to such an 
extent that to walk under the sun in one's usual clothes was 
quite a labour. To-day all has receded again to gloom, with 
addition of rain. I hope William will keep his four out- 
standing days of holiday for the welcome purpose of a visit 
here ere long. I want it to be before my Roinan Widow 
picture leaves me — also the little old Annunciation, which I 
should like to show you for lack of a press of newer work. 

I am glad your Papa has got his Cardiff portrait so well 
forwarded, and trust you and he can manage to be here 

With love to William (and my other kith and kin if there) 
I am 

Affectionately yours, 

D. G. R. 

B 74. ^ 

The review which my brother mentions in this note must be a 
notice of his Poems which appeared in an American Roman Catholic 
paper, named The Catholic World. It pleased him much ; and he 
often at a later date expressed a wish that he had at the proper time 
taken steps for learning who the writer might be. He never ascer- 
tained this point distinctly. In the Bibliography which is appended 


to the Life of Rossefti, by Joseph Knight {Great Writers series), this 

article is ascribed to " J. C. Earle." The Bibliography is compiled 

by Mr. J. C. Anderson, of the British Museum — a gentleman not 

likely to be in error as to such a point. 

Friday [^ June 1874]. 

My dearest Mother, 

I am sending you the review I mentioned, which 
please kindly return when read. It is a curiosity, and about 
the best written on the book. 

Things are very lovely here, but not quite so redundant as 
at this time last year, owing, I judge, to the absence of 
fertilizing floods during the past winter. 

I mentioned a little ivory handle which I have somewhere 
[here comes a sketch], and which belongs to the toilet-glass 
in W[illiam] and L[ucy's] bedroom. I cannot find it here. 
... It was kindly turned for me by poor Mike Halliday 
(since dead), to supply the place of one broken off, and was 
an exact match. 

H 2. 

This note refers to the portrait of my wife in coloured chalks 

which my brother had begun in 1874 at Kelmscott, and which he 

completed after his return to London : the same portrait which 

appears in the present volume. 

[16 Cheyne Walk.] 
Wednesday night [1874 — ? August]. 

My dear Lucy, 

I believe, for one or two reasons, that Sunday would 

be my best day for the sitting, if suiting you equally with 

Friday ; and I would hope to see the proposed party— viz., 

William, yourself, and your papa, in the daytime, if possible 

to all, and Nolly later, about 6, for dinner at 8. I propose 

this division lest the room should otherwise be full, as 

I fancy Leyland is very likely to look in. I suppose his 

presence would not make any difference to you in sitting, — 

it would make none to me in drawing. . . . Would you 

kindly wear the same frill as before ? 




By D. G. Rossetti. 

Lucy M. Rossetti, 



FAMILY-LETTERS— 1874- 3^3 

B 75- 

Thursday [1874 — ? August\ 

My dearest Mother, 

I should have written before in answer to Christina's, 
but that I have been wanting to come round, and constantly 
prevented. This evening I hope to come round if possible, 
and we could then fix a day for the pleasure of seeing you 
here. Also I want to bring round Lucy's portrait at the 
same time, which is now framed. The day you come I must 
really begin a similar chalk drawing of you — and you must 
then give me a second sitting one day the following week. 
Two sittings are enough. 

I hope you got all right the half of a salmon which Graham 
sent me, and which I sent on to you. 

Your loving 


I was glad to learn that Lucy is downstairs again. 

C 123- 
Our aunts, the Misses Polidori, had recently taken a part of a 
house, No. 12 Bloomsbury Square. Our Mother and Sister Christina 
stayed with them from time to time' hence the phrase "Mamma 
and the whole Bloomsbury Square party." 

Friday [2 Ociober 1874]. 

My dear William, 

Mamma and the whole Bloomsbury Square party are 
to be here to spend Monday and dine with me. Could you 
and Lucy come? I have been extremely sorry to hear of 
the vicissitudes of her health, but should rejoice to know that 
she was well enough to come. I never see you now. 
With love to her, 

Your affectionate 


I have found the little ivory handle which (as I told you) 
poor Mike Halliday turned for me, to supply the place of 
the one broken off your bedroom looking-glass. 


C 124. 

The paper which my brother sent on to me with the subjoined 
letter was a fly-sheet printed by Mr. Pickering the publisher, regard- 
ing the Aldine Edition of Blake, compiled by myself, and Mr. 
Pickering's own Edition, compiled by Mr. R. H. Shepherd. The 
writer erroneously attributed to myself, as well as to my brother, 
certain emendations or variations of diction in Blake's poems, as 
published in 1863 in Gilchrist's Life of Blake. The reference to 
Nolly (Oliver Brown) relates to the illness which soon afterwards, 
on 5 November, terminated his life and all its high promise. 
No. 37 Fitzroy Square was Mr. Brown's residence. 

■ Thursday [8 October 1874]. 

Dear William, 

The enclosed has been sent me — I don't gather whether 
it has appeared in Academy or not. I just send it on to you, 
to say that you should, if necessary, state that you had 
nothing whatever to do with the editorship of the Poems in 
Gilchrist's Blake, which was done solely by me. 

I know you would not quite have coincided in my method 
of treatment, nor should I now have adopted it to the same 
extent. I must add, however, that I shall take no public 
notice of the question myself in any form, and that, if further 
circulars or papers bearing on it are sent to me, George will 
simply throw them in the fire without their reaching me. 

I am extremely sorry to hear about Nolly, and sorry also 
that Lucy, in her weak state, should attempt the duties of 
a nurse. George said yesterday morning that he purposed 
calling at Fitzroy Square in the course of the day to enquire, 
but I did not hear later that he had done so. 


C 125. 

Friday [9 October 1874]. 

Dear William, 

About the Blake Poems, I think it would have been 
better to state plainly in your note to the Academy that the 
editorship was mine. If still feasible, I think it may as well 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 874- 3l5 

be stated, though I intend not to take any part whatever in 
any discussion that may arise. 

About the Auguries of Innocence etc., it strikes me that a 
verbatim version of the former, at any rate, appeared in 
Swinburne's Blake — did it not ? — and might in that case be 
reprinted by Bell & Daldy if you wish. 

Ever yours, 

D. G. R. 

I am heartily glad of the improvement in Nolly, whom 
George saw very ill. 

B 76. 

Monday evening {November 1874]. 

My dearest Mother, 

I have been meaning to come and see you so much, 
but constantly prevented. I trust to be able to do so to- 
morrow (Tuesday) evening about half-past 7. 

What a terrible blow this is of poor Nolly's death ! I hope 
Lucy is stronger now. 

C 126. 

The Sonnet here mentioned is one which my brother wrote on 
the death of Oliver Brown, and which was published in the Athencenm. 

Thursday [12 November 1874]. 

My dear William, 

I have read that Sonnet to Watts, as an independent 
judge, and he thinks it should be printed. He and George 
seem to think the Athenceum the readiest and most expeditious 
medium. I will send it there if Brown approves. 

A 27. 

13 November 1874. 

My dear Aunt, 

You must indeed have thought me neglectful after not 
hearing in reply to your note for so many days. I am quite 
ashamed of it, and have no excuse except that your note 


somehow got out of sight, and that this sad affair of poor 
Nolly Brown's death and funeral has tended to put other 
things out of my head. On this melancholy subject you 
have probably heard at length from other quarters, so I will 
not dwell on it. I attended the funeral yesterday at Finchley 
Cemetery. Poor Lucy's health seems still further seriously 
affected by her pain of mind and exertions as a nurse. 

I have no ideas as to the " housel " china, or as to any 
china except some Oriental kinds. I should suppose your 
piece to be French. If Sevres, it might not improbably be 
worth at least ten times as much as when given to you ; but 
of course this is the merest guess-work. 

Lady Ashburton has been here twice lately, and to-day 
asked me if I would do a chalk drawing of her daughter. I 
assented, and she is coming to sit to-morrow. Lady A[sh- 
burton] spoke of you in a friendly, even an affectionate, way. 
Miss Baring (I suppose — or is she Lady Mary B[aring]? I 
never heard her called anything but her Christian name) — the 
daughter — is handsome and winning to a very unusual degree, 
and it will be a satisfaction to draw her face. 

Your affectionate Nephew, 

D. Gabriel R. 

P.S. — My Mother, or Christina, was suggesting that we 
might get up another little family-gathering at my house 
in the Christmas-season. I should like it much. 

C 127. 

" Merton " (a house in Fair Lawn, Merton) was at this time the 
residence of the Hueffer family. For a few days following the 
funeral of Oliver Brown, the bereaved parents, along with my wife 
and myself, were assembled there. 

Monday [16 November 1874]. 

Dear William, 

I am sending the Sonnet to the Athencstcm, which no 
doubt will print it, unless they think this week's paragraph 
bars recurrence to the subject. 

family-l£tters— i875- 317 

I do not see Ithe objection to " mountains " etc. ; neverthe- 
less I see no objection either to Hueffer's amendment — so 
adopt it, as the general vote at Merton seems in its favour. 

The last words, I should have thought, would have conveyed 
at once the impression — " Does he hope, like ourselves, to 
be re-united ? " — and this seems a just question. However — 
lest there should be any possibility of its seeming to say, 
" Does he hope, like ourselves, for a changed state ? " — I will 
adopt the amendment, " And he ? " 

With love to all. 

Ever your affectionate 

D. G. R. 

C 128. 

15 December 1874. 

Dear William, 

I have long been wishing to make a chalk head of our 
Mother, and it has struck me (being so busy and preoccupied 
with one thing and another that appointments are difficult) 
that I might combine this with the Christmas family-party, 
were the latter to take place Jiere. Would you and Lucy 
give me the pleasure of joining the usual circle in such case ? 
With love to her. 

Your affection ate 


B 77. 

31 August 1875. 

My dearest Mother, 

I got your dear letter from Clifton, and now another 
of Christina's, for which please thank her. It is by no means 
impossible that the information she gives may prove valuable, 
though my present wish is to get to the seaside if I can. 
Many failures have occurred in finding a suitable place, and, 
as I have been at work all the time, the necessity of getting 
on with new work commenced has still further prolonged the 
delay. But I suppose I sliall get away — in winter ! 


The Bella Mano picture is still here, and I have not for- 
gotten Maria's wish to see it. Could we not ere long make 
an appointment here in which she might be included, and 
which might be the occasion of another sitting from you? 
I propose to look in at Euston Square on a very early evening, 
and we might then see if such arrangement could be made. 

You will be glad to hear that I was lately introduced to a 
new buyer who has commissioned the Venus Astarte (for 
which you saw a pen-and-ink design and a chalk head) at 
my price of 2,000 guineas, which Leyland, though much want- 
ing the picture, had declared himself unable to afford. The 
same man seems likely to go on buying, and to prove a very 
valuable connexion. 

Good-bye, darling Antique, till I see you very soon. 

C 129. 

Spartaco is an Italian historical romance by Professor Giovagnoli, 
who had come over from Italy, and had given my brother a call. It 
is an able book, and was in after years very warmly admired by Mr. 
Madox Brown. The " other Italian " was Signer Catalani, then 
attached to the Italian Embassy in London, who had recently called 
on me at Somerset House, and had shown a familiar knowledge 
of my brother's poems and an intense admiration of them. The 
meeting proposed by my brother never came off. This is, I suppose, 
the same Signor Catalani who died in the summer of 1895, being 
then Italian Ambassador at Constantinople. 

[16 Cheyne Walk.] 
Wednesday [8 September 1875]. 

My dear William, 

Re Spartaco. 

I didn't send you the book because I doubted your 
leisure in the matter. Since then the author has again called 
here. ... I have now at last written him, . . . and enclosed 
a letter of introduction to you addressed Somerset House, as 
he wants some notion as to the possibility of translating 
and publishing the book in England. You might give him 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1875. 319 

perhaps some notion on this head. In merit it is of course 
of the usual Italian type (to judge by the 30 pages or so I 
have yet read), ?>., quite competent but rather level. 

I dare say he is a nice fellow, and you like Italians, so I 
have the less remorse in sending him to you. I have told 
him he will find you at Somerset House between 11 and 
4 or 5. 

Your affectionate 


P.S. — I really have a sort of wish to see the other Italian 
you named to me. Perhaps we might combine him and this 
one here on some occasion ? 
_ I hope Lucy does well. 

B 78. 

Aldwick Lodge, near Bognor, Sussex. 

[21 October 1875.] 

My DEAREST Mother, 

I know you will be glad to see a seaside address at 
last heading this letter. I got here with George on Monday 
evening. The weather since has not been for the most part 
very favourable for walking ; still I have got out fairly well. 
The house and grounds are very agreeable, and particularly 
sheltered and well suited for winter quarters. It is a large 
fine house — oldish, but without much character. The sea is 
only two minutes' walk from the house, but there are no 

Would there be a chance of getting you and Christina 
down here — say for a week or fortnight? Later I expect 
other visitors, to sit for a picture ( Vemis Astarte, which I now 
want to begin if possible) ; but this prospect is, unfortunately, 
uncertain. Would it be more agreeable for you to come here 
(if at all practicable) with or without the other household of 
Euston Square? I should, in any case, object to a nurse 
being brought, as I think servants are better kept apart ; . . . 
we have two women-servants here, who of course would only 


be too proud to nurse the babby. I need not say how much 
I should like to have William ; but I cannot, I suppose, have 
every one, and you come first. 

# * * # * ^ 

B 79. 

" The D'Arblay " is the Diary and Letters of Madame HArblay 
(Miss Burney). 

[Aldwick Lodge, Bognor. 

Wednesday 3 November 1875.] 

My dearest Mother, 

The time has come to ask, When may I hope to see 
you and Christina here ? The beginning of next week would 
suit me perfectly, as early as you may like, and I suppose 
you are then free. Miss Wilding comes down to-day, and 
will, I suppose, be likely to stay the whole of next week, but 
there will be plenty of room for all, if, as I suppose, you have 
no objection to Christina's bed being in one well-sized room 
with your own. 

Will you, if there is an opportunity, give my best love to 
dear Maria, and tell her how much I feel with her in this 
great change to which her lifelong tendencies have pointed 
from the first ? 

I hear nothing of William, but hope he and his are benefit- 
ing at Bournemouth. 

Your most loving 


P.S. — Mrs. Morris has, I believe, returned you the UArblay, 
with which she was more delighted than I think I ever knew 
her to be with any book. She has now got Evelina. . . . 
I continue to find this place a healthful and agreeable 
sojourn, and I suppose it is very probable I may remain 
here till the end of the year. The landlady, who lives near, 
is obliging. ... 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 875. 32 1 

B 80. 

Under the Rose : this was the original title of a poem by Christina 
which, in the reissue, was named The Itiiquity of the Fathers upon 
the Children. 

[Aldwick Lodge, Bognor.] 
Ttiesdav [28 November 1875]. 

My dearest Mother, 


Reading is very scarce here. I remember you used 
to have Horace Walpole's Correspondence, a book I have 
often fancied reading, though I never did so yet. 


Many thanks to Christina for remembering my wish to 
re-possess her early Verses. Her new volume, in George's 
copy, is of an agreeable enough though quakerish tint. My 
own impression is that the frontispiece would have been best 
by itself, in the way of plates. The others fit in awkwardly. 
I am going immediately to rummage the book for what is 
new, but have not yet done so. I think the re-christening of 
Under the Rose an advantage to its purport ; but unluckily 
the new title is unwieldy, a thing to which I don't think 
Christina pays enough attention. I fancy, if she had called 
it " Upon the Children " simply, the whole meaning would 
have been conveyed, and wieldily. 


. The other day I found a beautiful fan of flag-seaweed 
complete, with a long strong stem, and beautiful root attached 
to a stone. But such things, when a goodish size, are not 
easy to preserve. I have laid it in a drawer for the present. 

C 130. 

The P.S. of this letter relates to the sudden death in London 
of a cousin of my wife, married to an Indian official Mr. Samuel 
Cooper. " Nolly's book " is the collection, in two volumes, of the 
Remains of Oliver Brown — The Dwale Bheth, and other stories 
and poems, completed or fragmentary : it had not been published 
at the date of this letter. 

VOL. n. 21 


Aldwick Lodge, near Bognor. 
30 November ['1875]. 

My dear William, 

Would it be at all feasible to choose some convenient 
moment to send me a few books to read here? I have 
exhausted my own library, and am much in want of some- 
thing which could be read aloud — amusing books — memoizs, 
stories, or anything readable. 

I see such a store of these on your shelves sometimes that 
I am tempted to bore you with this request. English books 
are chiefly wanted. As to their return, I would promise faith- 
fully that they should be safely despatched to Euston Square 
before I left this place, and never see Chelsea at all, which 
you probably regard as a " Gulf in the middle of Adan Aran." 

Blake's cottage at Felpham, by the bye, is within an easy 
seaside walk of this, but I have not yet been there ; I mean 
to do so. 

I am well in health, but just gripped by a vile cold, which 
however is going off. It is getting direly cold here. 

I heard that Marston's eldest daughter, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, 
was very ill. Do you know anything of this ? 1 hope she is 
on the mend. 

With love to Lucy, to Brown, and to all, 

I am your affectionate 


I was sorry to hear of poor Mrs. Cooper's death. It must 
have been a great trial in every way. 
Is Nolly's book out yet ? 

F 9. 

Speaking of Christina's poems, my brother here inclines to think 
that a piece preceding No thank you, John, were better omitted. 
The piece in question is The Queen of Hearts— 2i slight playful 
effusion, but to my mind a very pleasant one. The " dreadful story 
about Shelley " was the allegation of a deathbed confession to the 
effect that Shelley had come to his death by the misdeed of some 
Italian fishermen who had plotted to steal a sum of money in his 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 8/ 5- 323 

boat. It was, I believe, I who first put the story into print ; it 
had come to the aged Edward John Trelawny in a letter from his 
daughter, and he asked me (I think rightly) to get it published. 
He was convinced of the truth of the allegation. 


3 December 1875. 

My dear Christina, 

I told George to tell you how very glad I shall be to 
accept the new volume of your Poems, but that there is no 
need of sending it now, as Jiis copy is here. To-day I have 
been looking through it with the same intense sympathy 
which your work always excites in me. Some of the matter 
newly added is most valuable. Amor Mimdi is one of your 
choicest masterpieces ; the Venus Sonnet and the one follow- 
ing, most exquisite ; Confluents, lovely, and penetrating in 
its cadence ; and the two poems on the Franco-Prussian 
War very noble — particularly the second, which is, I dare 
say, the best thing said in verse on the subject . . . The first 
of the two poems seems to me just a little echoish of the 
Barrett- Browning style — fine as the verses and genuine as the 
motive must be plainly discerned to be. Here, however, it 
is only in cadence that I seem to notice something of the 
kind. A real taint, to some extent, of modern vicious style 
derived from the same source — ^what might be called a falsetto 
muscularity — always seemed to me much too prominent in 
the long piece called The Lowest Room. This I think is now 
included for the first time, and I am sorry for it. I should 
also have omitted No thank you, John (and perhaps the pre- 
ceding piece also). The John one has the same genesis more 
or less, and everything in which this tone appears is utterly 
foreign to your primary impulses. The Royal Princess has 
a good deal of it unluckily, but then that poem is too 
good to omit. If I were you, I would rigidly keep guard on 
this matter if you write in the future, and ultimately exclude 
from your writings everything (or almost everything) so 
tainted. I am sure you will pardon my speaking so frankly. 

Mrs. Morris is delighted with the Walpole book. In fact, 


I think the amusement she derives from it is very beneficial 
in giving her strength for the sittings, which are arduous in 
her delicate state. However, by easy stages, I am getting on 
successfully with the Astarte, which was an anxious question 
for me, as the commission is an important one. Mrs. M[orris] 
sends thanks and kindest regards. 

What a dreadful story this is about Shelley ! I must say 
that, considering the fact that it seems to have come primarily 
through such a credulous man as Kirkup, I think it might 
have been better to wait a little before putting it in print. 
Shelley's son must be greatly shocked by it. IF the con- 
fession itself is a fact, then I suppose its purport must be 
viewed as perfectly true. 

George has been most attentive to your feathered tribe since 
the snow set in ; a style of attention opposite (as I am always 
pointing out to him) to a favourite one with which he takes 
notice of them at other times through a cylindrical medium. 

An article on Dr. Hake's poems by Watts in The Examiner 
contains some perfect fireworks in your honour. So I'll send 
it on. W[atts] wanted to " do " you for same paper, but was 
told you were in the hands of Gosse. 

Love to the Teakum and to all from 

Your loving Brother, 

P.S. — I am delighted to hear that some attention is being 
paid to teviperahire in Mamma's case. Depend upon it that, 
at her age, much must be governed solely by this question, 
and that the most serious results might follow neglect, yet 
be easily avoided by watchfulness. I have seen the working 
of such requirements, and know them. 

B 81. 


Wednesday [15 December 1875]. 

My DEAREST Mother, 

I am so glad at the prospect of seeing you here again, 
with Christina and my Aunts. It is a real drawback that 

fAMILY-LETTERS — 1 875. ^2^ 

poor Maria cannot come — I do not exactly understand why. 
Is it because of George, or is she precluded from coming at 
this season ? I grieve to think how lonely she will be on 
Christmas-day without her family. I do hope she will get 
some other chance equally desirable of making one in the 
family-circle ; otherwise I should feel quite saddened at being 
the cause of such a privation to her. She has written me an 
extremely nice letter, and I shall be answering her without 


I believe Dr. Hake and two sons are likely to be here for 
a day or two, besides George ; also probably Watts. But I 
will take care that the Teak is not hemmed in. 

Your loving Son, 

* * * * * * 

It has just struck me that you wander about without proper 
clothing ; and George considered your condition in the train 
pitiable. Therefore you must let me make you a Christmas- 
box. I write with this to a shop in Regent Street where I 
buy things sometimes, to send down a sealskin cloak for the 
Teak, having given them the latitude and longitude, and 
telling them it must be large enough to cover you all over, 
and with a good warm collar. So now don't say a word, but 
let me give it you without demur, as it really may be the 
means of keeping cold out at some important moment. I 
have told them to send two or three for choice ; but now take 
care that you choose the largest, best, and zvarmest. It is to 
have wide sleeves, and to open and close in front, in the usual 
coat-cloak style. 


C 131. 

Olivia, here mentioned, is my eldest girl — aged on 15 December 
1875 ^6ss than three months. " The Necromancer book " is Godwin's 
Lives of the Necromancers. 


[Aldwick Lodge, Bognor.] 

Wednesday [15 December 1875]. 

My dear William, 

I have not yet thanked you for kindly sending the 
books. . . . All shall reach you safely again. I am now once 
more alone with George here. I asked Mamma and Christina 
to come down for Christmas ; and, finding they could not 
come without my Aunts, I have asked them too. . . . 

Love to Lucy and to the Browns — not forgetting Olivia, in 
spite of her present happy unconsciousness of all messages 
whatsoever. I hope, by the bye, you mean to call her Olive ; 
I should have named her so for good — it is much prettier. 

Of course I tried to get poor Maria down here for Christmas, 
but it seems she cannot come. It is sad to think of her 
loneliness, but she tells me she will get some other evening 
instead to spend in the family-circle. 

Your affectionate 

D. G. R. 

By the bye, about the Necromancer book. I thought I had 
returned it to you, and certainly do not think it is either at 
Kelmscott or Chelsea. Whether some Gulf of the borrowing 
order has swallowed it up seems the next conjecture, though 
I can't remember any such thing. I'll try and realize. 

A 28. 

Aldwick Lodge, near Bognor. 
Ne'w Year's Day 1876. 

My dear Aunt, 

The chairs are going off to-day — one to Muntham, the 
other to Bloomsbury Square. I have chosen the two most 
able-bodied that I could find. 

I hope you will be enjoying your New Year's evening, and 
above all that good Maria will have some family-pleasures for 
once. Had she been with us during your stay here, I am 
sure we should all have valued her company equally. I hope 
all got home without misadventure. 

Dizzy has seemed somewhat disconsolate in the absence of 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 876. 327 

protective draperies. However, yesterday at dinner he made 
a discovery — that of toasted shrimps — and emitted a shout 
which the cry of Columbus at first sighting land could alone 

I think I told you that the peacock-screen cost £s to 
execute ; but that (I now remember) must have been for the 
two screens which I have — even if indeed the two really 
amounted to so much. I have no doubt it could be got done 
much cheaper by the gifted butler you spoke of. 

With love to all, 

Your affectionate Nephew, 


B 82. 

The first paragraph here relates to the project (previously referred 
to) of removing our Father's remains from England to Italy. The 
article in the Examiner upon the Life of Haydon was not my 

19 Janica>y 1876. 

My dearest Mother, 

I got this morning the letter I enclose, and have 
answered to the effect that I know an objection does exist on 
your part ; but I thought the letter might interest you, so I 
send it on. 

I often think of the extremely happy time we passed at 
Christmas here, and of your good health and good spirits at 
the time. Your dear face always brightens things when I look 
at it. I hope you are still thriving, and have got over this 
very cold weather pretty well. Just now there seems a slight 
change perhaps towards a milder state of things, but not 
much as yet. I keep well enough, and have been getting on 
more satisfactorily with my work lately ; but really there is 
no news to tell you in this quiet place. 

I have been reading a new book of Haydon's Corre- 
spondence and Table Talk, edited by his son who is or was 


in the Navy, but I rather think he is now an Admiralty official. 
Haydonism of obstinacy and set convictions is as prominent 
in the son as in the father, I think ; but the book in my 
opinion is on the whole well edited, and a great addition to 
the records of that time. There is an admirable profile 
drawing of Keats by Haydon — no doubt the best likeness 
of him in. existence ; and there is also a plate described as 
containing a likeness of Haydon by Keats. It is full of 
rough sketches from a page of the Journal — the most pro- 
minent being a full-face dashed in in a masterly way ; and 
one's first cry is — " Why, Keats, to have done this without 
teaching, must ;^have had more gift for Art than Haydon ! " 
But on closer examination one finds, half hidden among 
the rough scrawling, a profile which might be drawn by 
a child, yet is evidently meant for Haydon : this being of 
course Keats's real masterpiece, as it cannot possibly be 
by Haydon. The central full-face to which I referred first 
is, I judge, probably an idealization of Keats's face by 
Haydon, and seems to me to have been turned to much 
later by him as a suggestion for his picture of Uriel. 
The other sketches on the page all show reference to Keats's 
face, except a monkish-looking character in one corner. I 
suppose William is not the author of a notice of the book 
I saw in the Examiner, though it seems to me probably an 
outcome of Brown's set, owing to a mention of Oliver B[rown]. 
There is one very unfair thing in the article — an assertion 
that Haydon begged from Keats : a reference to the letter 
quoted showing quite clearly that the noble offer of assistance 
if needed emanated spontaneously from Keats himself. Here 
is a fine saying of Keats's in one of the letters : — " I value 
more the privilege of seeing great things in loneliness than 
the fame of a prophet." There is also a splendid anecdote of 
Keats' proposing as a toast at a gathering — " Confusion to 
the memory of Newton ! " and, on Wordsworth's wishing to 
know why before he drank it, the reply was " Because he 
destroyed the poetry of the rainbow by reducing it to a 
prism." That is magnificent. 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 876; 329 

It seems that poor Mary Haydon we used to know was the 
first to enter the studio and find her father's dead body. The 
account as given by the son is very terrible. There is a head 
of Haydon's wife, roughly done but showing a very fine face. 

I hope Christina, William, Lucy, and all, are well — also 
that Maria is not suffering at present. I don't know whether 
you are back by this time at Euston Square, but, judging that 
you most probably are so, I address this letter thither. 

George's article on Christina's poems has not yet appeared 
in the Hour, but I believe it is to do so. 

Your ever loving Son, 


I could lend you the Haydon book if it would interest you 
— though possibly I might be keeping it a little longer. 

B 83. 

[Aldwick Lodge, 
. Friday 21 January 1876.] 

My dearest Mother, 

I received your dear letter with great pleasure, and am 
sincerely glad that I have answered Mr. Hopkins as you 
would have wished respecting what concerns my dear Father 
and his countrymen. 

I did see my Father's name in one of Haydon's letters to 
Kirkup, and much regretted that Kirkup's letter to which 
it was a reply had not been included. What you say of 
Haydon shows how clear and lucid your mind is at an 
advanced age, and how well and incisively you can express 
your just conclusions. I assure you that your first inculca- 
tions on many points are still the standard of criticism with 
me, and that I am often conscious of being influenced cor- 
rectly by these early-imbibed and still valuable impressions. 

Among Kirkup's letters I was greatly struck by his masterly 
criticism on Michelangelo's roof at the Sistine Chapel, 
which is more like my own impression derived from the 


photographs than anything I ever saw on the subject. How- 
ever, I must confess myself astounded at Kirkup's unfavour- 
able and Vandalic verdict on Michelangelo's sculpture of the 
Medici Tombs. There is something most justly said by 
Wordsworth at page 44, vol. ii., respecting early Italian Art. 
It quite surprised me, as I had no idea whatever that he had 
any such insight into subjects of that kind. His great facial 
resemblance to Ruskin seems, as usually in such cases, to 
have been not without a reason. 

A 29. 

Aldwick Lodge, Bognor. 
V [1876.] 

My dear Aunt, 

I wrote, on getting your letter, to enquire about the 
chairs, but have only just heard. They are 26s. each, and I 
suppose they can be got singly if wished, but this is not 
stated. They come from Morris & Co., 26 Queen Square, 
London, W.C. 

As to the peacock-feather screens. . . . You see it is neces- 
sary to get a sheet of cardboard of the size which would fit 
in the framework of the screen ; to cover it with deep-rei 
silk on both sides ; and then to arrange the feathers tier over 
tier as you saw in my screen on one side, and adopt a simpler 
design needing fewer feathers on the other, which is turned 
to the fire. I would send one of my screens to the worker 
as a pattern, if wished. There is one here, and one in 

I have been working on here, having a habit of growing 
where I happen to drop ; but I shall soon get back to town 
now for the present. There have been some fearful gales, 
and we have filled several bell-glasses with sea-anemones and 
wonders gathered from the deep. 

Little news has been exchanged between this and Euston 
Square, but I have reason to hope that all goes well there. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1876. 33 I 

B 84. 

Aluwick Lodge, Bognuk. 
29 April 1876. 

My dearest Mother, 

I was not unmindful that the 27th was your birthday, 
and that I had been too long neglectful of your too distant 
love and tenderness. . . . My health has been variable, but 
never much more or less so than when you have been with 
me. If I have stayed here so long, it has chiefly been on 
account of great uncertainties in connexion with the Chelsea 
house, and the advisability of returning to it, or foregoing the 
lease and settling elsewhere. ... I am greatly desirous of 
retrenchment ; though certainly, as long as I remain here, I 
am taking no step in that direction. But I am on the look-out 
for permanent and moderate country-quarters, and hope to 
find such. Indeed, one such place (in Surrey) is being seen 
about now — rent ^100 only. If I could manage to settle in 
such a place, and not keep town-quarters also, I might recover 
somewhat from my chronic impecuniousness. Would you 
believe it that my Bank passbook shows my receipts from 
April '75 to the same month this year to have amounted to 
^3>725 ? and I believe this is somewhere about my average 
income. Yet I am always hard up for ^^50 ! This could 
hardly be the case if I were settled in cheap country-quarters 

I think I must have told you that, besides getting the 
Blessed Dainozel picture very forward since I came here, I 
have twice commenced the Venus Astarte subject. The 
second commencement is, I believe, quite a success for me — 
my best ; and the heads are now all fully secured. I have 
lately been working-up as a separate picture the principal 
head of the first commencement ; which, though I was bent 
on doing it still better for the picture, is by no means a failure. 
I am making it into another design of head and hands only, 
to be called Memory, or La Ricordanza — which word, 1 
suppose (though it might be rather obsolete), is as admissible 
Italian as " Rimembranza." This belongs to myself as yet, so 


will bring in something clear, I hope ; but it is terrible how 
the proceeds of my main works all get sucked up long before 
they are done, owing to my own fastidiousness in work. 
However, I don't want to make you uneasy about my com- 
mercial prospects, which are good enough if I can only 
retrench. I possess also a full-sized replica of the Proserpine 
picture, and a few other things of my own. If I can make 
these bring full value by proper management, I might perhaps 
begin at last to lay by some little yearly. 

C 132. 

This note relates to the effort which was then being made by 
some admirers of Walt Whitman in this country to benefit him by 
purchasing copies of his Leaves of Grass, and Tivo Rivulets, in a 
new edition which he had then brought out. His letter to me (or 
I think it was really addressed to Mr. Moncure Conway) was printed 
for circulation among persons likely to co-operate. 

[Aldwick Lodge, Bognor.] 
21 May 1876. 

My dear William, 

Whitman's letter to you is very manly and touching. 
Any future plans I should be glad to join in, according to my 
power. At present I should at once send ;^5 for myself 
and £\ for G, Hake, if it did not happen that I am rather 
short of money at the moment. I reckon on doing so shortly 
without fail. 

I hope you and Lucy and your joint heiress are doing well, 
and with love to all and to my Mother and Christina am 

Your affectionate 


Would not a distinct agency established for the books 
somewhere in London, and backed by Whitman's letter, be 
likely to attract subscribers ? 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 18/6. 333 

B 85. 

c/o Rt. Hon. Cowper Temple, 
Broadlands, Romsey. 
Wednesday [2 August 1876]. 

My dearest Mother, 

You will perceive that I have made the unusual move 
of accepting the kind invitation of my good friends the 
Cowper Temples, and coming here for a few days for change 
of air, before the house fills with their visitors for the country- 
season. I forget whether I told you of any such possible 
project, but shall not stay here for many days longer. The 
heats in London were, as you know, extreme before I left, 
but here the air is most, genial, and everything extremely 
favourable for walking or strolling about. I have brought 
some easy-going work for occupation. 

I thought I would give you thus much news of myself, 
but there is little to say in detail of so uneventful a trip. Of 
course the house is a most splendid place, but I confine 
myself almost entirely to a very quiet corner of it. The 
estate is extremely large, and includes features of every kind 
of beauty — indeed the view of the whole from an eminence 
overlooking it is perfectly surprising. The Isle of Wight is 
quite visible in the extreme distance on a clear day ; having 
the aspect of a cloud — the Isle — floating above a halo of light 
— the sea. 

I trust you are now enjoying Maria's society — and to her 
and to you both my best love. 

B 86. 

This letter contains the first reference to the last illness of our 
sister Maria — an internal tumour, with dropsical complications — 
which terminated fatally on 24 November 1876. She was then in 
the fiftieth year of her age. Our Mother's " news of home-plans " 
related to the separation of domicile which was then impending 
between the two sections of our family, hitherto under one roof — 
my Mother and Christina on the one hand, and myself with my wife 
and daughter on the other. 


Broadlands, Romsey. 

24 August 1876. 

My DEAREST Mother, 

I have been meaning to write again earlier. I also am 
on the point of a move this evening to London, after un- 
expectedly spending a whole month here with these most 
excellent and devoted friends. Of their goodness to me and 
plans for my benefit I can never sufficiently speak to you. 
Mrs. Temple is simply an angel on earth, and, though her 
husband is less radiantly such, he is no less so in fact. There 
has been a religious " Conference " held here (chiefly in the 
open air) during my stay. Many clergy and others have 
attended it under the auspices of the Temples. I have been 
confined to my own rooms, and hardly conscious of anything 
outside them except in going for my daily walks with George, 
I must tell you that my bodily state is a very suffering one, 
and that my nights are something of which it would be 
difficult to convey to you an idea for utter unrest and fre- 
quent severe pain of the lim^bs. Various notions of medical 
advice and remedies are on foot. Mrs. Temple, who is the 
Providence of the neighbourhood in all helpful matters, has 
been herself able to suggest various ideas towards battling 
the evil. But what may come of it I cannot yet tell. Un- 
fortunately my energies for work are much prostrated, and my 
power of sitting at the easel greatly restricted by my extreme 
weakness and bodily pains. 

My excellent old friend Miss Munro (sister of the sculptor) 
lives here as governess to a child adopted by the Temples. 
She therefore has increased the conversational circle for me ; 
and a beautiful and excellent Mrs. Sumner (wife of the 
Royal Master of Hounds) is here also, and a great boon for 
cheerfulness, intelligence, and no less for willingness to sit. 
She is one of the most beautiful women I ever saw, though 
now past her youngest, and of the noblest antique Roman 
type — a perfect Agrippina or Cornelia. I hope to be able 
to paint something good from her. A few others have 
completed my circle here, though during our stay I suppose 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 876. 335 

at least 50 or 60 visitors have stayed and gone without 
my ever seeing them. Christina's Poems have been a great 
resource in the evenings at times, and I have read many 
aloud to the sympathizers, the Temples, Mrs. Sumner, and a 
few others — all true enthusiasts for their beauty. My spirits 
have gained much through the intercourse with these most 
sympathetic people, but my physical weakness has of course 
been a great disadvantage. At some time (I trust not 
remote) both you and Christina must really know the 
Temples, and I hope the excellent Mrs. Sumner too. They 
would glory in the knowledge of both ; and you would simply 
adore, as all must, the noble beauty of Mrs. Temple's Christ- 
like character, while all three would sympathize with you on 
religious as much as on other grounds. 

I have made a chalk drawing of Mrs. Temple's head here, 
which I meant as a present, but which Mr. T[emple] generously 
insists on viewing as a commission. I have long wished to 
draw her most noble face, but am only half satisfied with this 
first result. I shall try again. I have also painted a many- 
winged baby-head into the Blessed Damozel picture — a lovely 
baby being found for the purpose here. 

George has been much — indeed very highly — appreciated, 
and has done a deal of boating for the ladies. He has quite 
made himself valued here. 

Your news of poor dear Maria should not have been the 
last thing replied to. I deeply regret to learn how ill she has 
been for so long, and could never have guessed it from the 
spirited tone of her letter, which I showed to Mrs. Temple, 
and which she read with the greatest interest. Her Shadow 
of Dante is greatly appreciated here, and Christina's Poems 
formed on the 22nd a birthday present from Mrs. Temple to 
Mrs. Sumner. I must soon write to Maria. Your news of 
home-plans is very interesting — I hope may prove a success. 
I trust to see you soon in London. I am much advised in 
some quarters to go to Malvern and try the cold-water cure, 
but I don't know what my immediate plans may be. At any 
rate a move to London will, I believe, occur for certain to-night. 


With love to Christina, and Maria if still available, of course 
with William and Lucy if this reaches you at Euston Square, 

Your most loving Son, 


B 87. 

[16 Cheyne Walk. 

Friday, August 1876.] 

My dearest Mother, 

I have been seeing Sir W. Jenner to-day in consultation 
with John Marshall, and they have prescribed me the awful 
ordeal of two nights entirely without chloral ! This will be 
utter sleeplessness ; and my only resource will be to try and 
read in bed — a thing I generally detest. Something amusing 
I need for this purpose, and am very deficient in such pro- 
vender. Could you again " loan " your D'Arblay vols. ? I 
have long meant to go through them. . . . 

I should be extremely glad of another visit from yourself 
and Christina, as William told me you possibly proposed ; but 
perhaps a day or two had better pass over now, since what 
sort of a bogie I may be under the new night-system I can't 

Your affectionate Son, 


P.S. — The remaining Walpole vols, will shortly return 
perfectly safe to your keeping. 

B 88. 

Thursday \Scpteniber 1876]. 

My dearest Mother, 

I am so pressed for time this morning that I can only 
write a word to say how thankful I feel to know that dear 
Maria is experiencing some relief Thanks for the pre- 
scription. I am sending to Maria to-day a series of photos 
from the miniatures of a celebrated Livre d'Henres, which I 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 876. 337 

am sure will interest her greatly. They are quite exceptionally 
fine of their kind. 

My own nights have been much improved lately. I have 
no pains in the limbs at present for some time past, the 
mesmerism seeming certainly to have carried them off, and I 
take only about half the chloral I used to take, or hardly so 
much as half. 

Your affectionate Son, 


Love to Christina. I have been very sorry to hear of her 
cold, and rejoice she is better. 

B 89. 

Friday night [October 1876]. 

My dearest Mother, 


I have been feeling more out of sorts again to some 
extent, but have no apprehension of getting worse ; only 
this sometimes keeps me in when I would otherwise come 
out. My work goes on well, and the big picture I am about 
(the one for Fry) progresses successfully. 

Poor sweet Maria ! I think of her continually, and hope I 
may have another chance of talking with her a little before 
long. I suppose a previous appointment is necessary. 

F 10. 

Sunday night [ig November 1876]. 

My dear Christina, 

I saw dear Maria this morning, as you probably know. 
I was terribly struck by the absolute change in her appear- 
ance, too evidently a final one. I hope to see her again when 
she expresses such a wish. She conversed clearly -^nd with 
deep feeling ; but all the former tendency to playfulness had 
left her, though even when I saw her on the previous occasion 
she was still then bright to a great extent But I am 

VOL. n. 22 


telling you what you know but too well. I hope to see our 
Mother and yourself very shortly. 
With love to her, 

Your affectionate 


B 90. 

Tuesday night [21 November 1876]. 

My dearest Mother, 

I was wishing to get down to you this evening, but one 
thing and another made it get later till too late. Now I may 
not be able to come before two or three nights hence. Will 
you tell Christina that I need not trouble her to write daily 
as to dear Maria, but only if something special has to be 
said ? Her state is evidently one from which nothing is to 
be hoped. It is terrible indeed to think of that bright 
mind and those ardently acquired stores of knowledge now 
prisoned in so frail and perishing a frame. How sweet and 
true a life, and how pure a death, hopeful and confiding in 
every last instant ! Her expressions to me as to the rela- 
tion she now felt herself to bear to her Lord, and her cer- 
tainty of seeing him in person, were things hardly to be 
counted as intercourse with a soul still on earth. 

T am busied with my picture of Astarte, and, whenever 
there is any opportunity, shall have great satisfaction in your 
seeing it. It has relieved my mind a good deal to make pro- 
gress with it at last, and I now see that it will soon be ready 
for delivery, a matter about which I was very anxious at the 
time when the pains in my limbs made it so difficult to work. 

With love to all, 

Your affectionate 


B 91. 

Friday [30 November 1876]. 

My dearest Mother, 

I had hoped to get down this evening to you, but 
find myself prevented. The scene we went through together 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1876. 339 

yesterday has been present ever since to my mind. Much 
crowds on the mind in connexion with such a subject which 
it is better not to write, as the expression of sorrow, though 
mutually helpful up to a certain point, should there cease to 
be habitual. ... 

Shields (whom I saw in the Cemetery) called on me yester- 
day evening, and sat till late talking. He is a true friend, 
and was deeply affected by yesterday's scene : the more so 
that he has a brother buried in the same Cemetery. 

* * * * * * 


The first paragrapn of this note will be understood as relating 
to a ticket, sent to my brother, for a stall at some theatre. His 
disclaimer of being " a convener of conferences " refers to a news- 
paper-paragraph in which some conference or other was mooted 
(I forget the details), and his name, along with others, was appended 
to the notice. The allusion to a possible " conference of creditors " 
is only to be regarded as jocular. 

12 December 1876. 

My dear Lucy, 

I believe the stall duly arrived, and George will take 
care it does not remain vacant, though I am no play-goer. 

Another thing I certainly am not is a convener of con- 
ferences ; though, from my well-scumbled background, I 
would subscribe my mite towards any good cause, and, 
supposing this to be one, shall not so far fail it. How my 
name could have got into the paper I cannot guess. 

Your affectionate 

D. Gabriel R. 

P.S. — I must modify this statement so far as a conference 
of credit07''s might be compulsorily convened. 


G 3- 

Our Uncle was at this time translating an Epistle written by 
Boccaccio (to Pino de' Rossi, on his exile), and he wished to offer 
the translation to some periodical. He was then living at 

31 January 1877. 

My dear Uncle, 

I was much pleased to hear from you — shocked as 
I was at the revelation of my own badness as a correspondent, 
which was so little wilful that I really was not at all aware 
how long it was since I had written to you. 

The Epistle of Boccaccio of which you speak is not known 
to me, though I have no doubt it would be so, were I versed 
in his work. I should like to ascertain whether it exists in 
any work of his or Italian collection I possess ; but my 
frequent moves of late years have caused my books to get 
into such hopeless confusion that the task would be a more 
intricate one than I could hastily undertake. Not knowing 
the Epistle, I of course am unaware whether it has ever 
been translated ; but I should think probably not, unless 
a translation of Boccaccio's collected writings other than the 
Decameron exists in English. Magazines nowadays consist 
mainly of such ephemeral writing that I hardly know one 
which would be likely to find place for such a translation ; 
otherwise I should advise you to continue your task with 
a view to such issue. That you could translate it excellently 
I cannot doubt ; but you do not tell me what the subject- 
matter of it is, nor whether likely to interest any reasonable 
number of modern readers. 

I am interested in what you tell me of your occupation in 
teaching Latin to a young friend, and the possibility of your 
teaching others also. It seems to me that on the whole, as 
far as I am able to judge, your present surroundings and 
habits are of a much more cheerful kind than was the case 
latterly at Gloucester. 

You ask me about myself. I lead a life at'least as isolated 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 877. 34 1 

as your own — perhaps more so. I keep up with some regu- 
larity the practice of evening visits to my Mother, and now 
find her and Christina always quite cheerful, and thoroughly 
recovered from the shock of their loss. I hope in a few days 
to get them to dine with me here ; but have latterly been 
very unsettled as to servants, which made an invitation of 
the kind difficult. Now I am better suited. 

I spent the evening of Christmas-day at Euston Square, 
and that of the 2nd January at Torrington Square. William 
I hardly ever see. On the Christmas occasion I saw his fine 
baby, which I believe is likely almost immediately to have a 
brother or sister. 

My professional success gives me no cause for complaint 
as yet, though I am beginning to perceive that I (as well as 
others) am likely soon to experience the great falling-off in 
the demand for artistic work which the past year has most 
alarmingly proved. For about a dozen years past certain 
dealers had kept up a feverish and exaggerated market for 
the works of living English artists, which brought large profit 
chiefly to the dealer, but necessarily also to the producer ; 
but now, what between natural reaction, alarm of war, and 
other causes, the excitement has greatly subsided, and the 
dealers themselves are beginning to cry out. What then must 
the artists expect? However, as I say, I have no distinct 
cause to complain as yet. Old commissions remain to me 
to work out, and others may yet come in. I have just finished 
one commissioned picture of a good size (entitled Astarte 
Syriaca, and representing the Syrian Venus with ministering 
spirits), and it brings me a higher price than any work I have 
yet done. My health is neither very good nor very bad, but 
not lately subject to the kind of bodily pains from which I 
suffered so severely in the summer. 

I am apprehensive that your verdict on my letter will be 
that I have little to tell you. One troublesome item which 
I may add is that my lease is so rapidly running out as to 
force me to look without further delay for fresh quarters ; 
since, even were I to renew this lease at a higher rent, the 


landlord would not forego building over the garden — which 
would half destroy the convenience of the place. Where I 
shall next settle down I cannot yet tell. 

Your affectionate Nephew, 

D. Gabriel Rossettl 

I certainly think that a line to Notes and Qiieries would 
elicit what you wish to ascertain. 

7 March 1877, 

My DEAR Uncle, 

I proceed to do my best for your queries ; but, now 
that poor Maria is gone, I fancy William remains the best 
referee, Christina next, and myself the very worst. 

(i) The Island of Gade presents to me no geographical 

(2) I should think the translation of the name might pass 
as Hypsicrathea, but she to me is a stranger. 

(3) " By these riches of our chief magistrates \P7n0ri here 
is no doubt in that sense] Bishops have recently [nuovamente] 
begun to be endowed ; nor do I doubt that, were we to look 
well into the past, the wearers of mitres were then much 
more numerous in our court." This seems to me "(ho. probable 

(4) The words underlined {Se Dio etc.) cannot, 1 feel certain, 
be understood by any human being. There must probably 
be a lacuna somewhere. 

(5) Cicilia is Sicily. 

As regards other matters, I have lately been attempting^ 
with the assistance of a very active and intelligent personal 
agent, to find myself a new whereabouts. My eye is chiefly 
on Fulham and that neighbourhood, as large old-fashioned 
houses with really enormous gardens — sometimes 3 or 4 acres 
— are to be had there frequently, and not seldom at a moderate 
rent. My researches have proved this amply, and I cannot 
conceive why my Mother and those living with her should 

FAMILY-LETTERS- -1 877- 343 

remain in a house where no garden is to be had. Houses 
with a garden as large as mine here occur not unfrequently 
in the neighbourhood I speak of at less than ;^ioo a year, 
sometimes much less ; while the rent they pay at Torrington 
Square, lOO guineas, always seemed to me exorbitant for 
such a house. However, my own requirements, as regards 
painting-light, freedom from noise, etc., are so special that, 
though places of the most tempting nature in many respects 
have been found, I cannot say that I am yet suited. But 
I have a year before me, my lease of this house not expiring 
till Lady-day 187S. My reason for looking out so early is 
that, however near I might come to the mark in finding a 
place, there is little doubt that it would need some adaptation 
for my purposes before I get into it. 

Thanks for your enquiries as to my health, which is pretty 
well on the whole. I hope yours is the same. I think I told 
you that I had recently completed a large picture. The 
owner (to whom I had not shown it before) came and saw 
it the other day, and was thoroughly delighted with it — which 
is a relief to me, as the price is 2,000 guineas, and not to have 
pleased him would have seemed like robbery. 

B 92. 

16 Cheynf; Walk. 

Mondav [28 May 1877]. 

My dearest Mother, 

* * ■ * # * * 

I have not been very well, but without illness of a 
decided kind. My indisposition was increased for some time 
through want of steady work after turning several late pic- 
tures out of hand. I have now taken up the reduced replica 
of the large Dante picture, which is not very amusing but 
must be done, and at any rate goes steadily on. 

It is wonderful how redundantly green the garden is now, 
yet the weather still frequently so chilly and stormy. I have 
failed as yet in getting a house for certain, and am beginning 
to feel desperate on the subject. 


B 93- 

At Mk. Sands', 
Hunter's Forestall, near Herne Bay. 

{August 1^77. ] 

My DEAREST Mother, 

I have now been here for some days. Yesterday for 
the first time I found myself able to take an hour's walk in 
the early part of the day, and half an hour's walk later. 
This is some improvement, but my hand remains wofully 
unsteady, and I have had a restless bad night. I believe we 
are ready now for you and Christina to come down as soon 
as convenient to you. When you come I do hope to begin 
making an attempt at your portrait, and to that end the 
materials must at once be sent for. 

At present the absolute want of occupation is rotting my 
life away hour by hour. Brown is the sweetest and kindliest 
of companions, but such a life is almost unbearable. The 
nurse is excellent and most efficient. 

With love to William, 

Your most affectionate 


C 133- 

"The thing I began from Mrs. Stillman " must be the Vision of 


At Mr. Sands', 
Hunter's Forestall, near Herne Bay. 

[21 September 1877.] 

My DEAR William, 

I have been intending to write you a line, but have 
not done much caligraphy, or cacography either, since coming 
here. I am now a little more in the way of it, and might 
almost say that I am writing this letter without any positive 
shaking of the hand, though my hand feels weak. This is, 
however, very fluctuating, as sometimes my hand is little 
better than before ; but there is on the whole very decided 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 877- 345 

I suppose it cannot now be very long before I return to 
town, and attempt to resume work. I rather project painting 
a picture without reference to Nature, from some one of the 
careful drawings which hang in the drawing-room. This, 
I have always thought, would be perfectly feasible ; and 
just at present I should find the use of models somewhat 
onerous, as it interferes with resting when one feels tired. 
However, I should like to go on also when possible with the 
thing I began from Mrs. Stillman. 

The weather here has been almost uniformly fine, and no 
doubt I have benefited much by walking and driving daily. 
I made one attempt at drawing, which was not absolutely 
discouraging ; and, since I have improved since then in 
steadiness of hand, I fancy I might be able to get on somehow 
at the easel. I might have tried again here, but the day is 
cut up with necessary exercise, and moreover the sun, when 
out, floods the only room I could paint in. 

I hope Lucy and the children benefited by their stay at 
Gorlestone, and that all are well now. My love to them and 
to you. 

C 134. 

The " drawing of Mamma's head " must be one which, including 
a head of Christina, is now in the National Portrait Gallery. My 
brother was well entitled to term it " successful." 

[Hunter's Forestalu] 

" Friday [28 September 'i.^jjX 

My dear William, 

You will be glad to hear that I have commenced a 
successful drawing of Mamma's head, quite up to my mark, 
and that I have no longer any doubts as to my being able 
to work much as heretofore. I am not quite without incon- 
venience ; but the result is not apparent in this last attempt, 
and I must suppose now that it will quite wear off in time, 


C 135. 

[Hunter's Forestall.] 

Thursday [11 October 1877]. 

My DEAR William, 

I am very sorry to hear to-day from Mamma that 
you are again suffering from toothache. I suppose it is still 
dependent on the split tooth you told me of In any case, 
Gregson and his gas-apparatus would painlessly help you 
to its extraction, and I urgently advise you not to suffer from 
it for another day. 

I am writing chiefly to fill up the time, and because it is 
long since I wrote to you. I dare say you will perceive 
increased steadiness of hand in this letter. Last night I slept 
rather better than my wont, which now makes the principal 
remaining difference as to the state of my hand. Thus, when 
at work again, I must take means to procure a continuance 
of proper sleep, or work will go to the wall altogether. 

I have pretty nearly finished a drawing of my Mother's 
head, but am not certain whether, in increasing the finish, 
I may not have diminished the likeness. However, all 
serious anxiety as to my continued fitness for work may no 
doubt be considered at an end. 

Brown may have told you that he considers a house which 
he viewed for me at Fulham to be eligible on the whole. 
Whether it will be attainable, or whether anything better 
may still be found, I know not. 

I was much troubled to hear of Brown's suffering from an 
abscess ; but happily it seems to have got much better, or 
well by this time. Shields, curiously enough, has had some- 
thing of the same kind. 

The slight attack of shingles (as Marshall surmised it to be, 
and prescribed accordingly with success), which bothered me 
very much, is now almost gone. 

Will you give my love to all yours ? and believe me 

Ever your affectionate 

p, Gabriel R, 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 877. 347 

C 136. 

[Hunter's Forestall.] 
Sunday [14 October 1877]. 

My dear William, 

We have pretty much exhausted our reading-resources 
here. Have you anything decidedly readable — biography 
especially, but not about the French Revolution — which you 
could send us ? Not novels, I think. In haste. 


D. G. R. 

B 94. 

[16 Cheyne Walk.] 
4 December 1877. 

My dearest Motfier, 

On reflecting further as to the Christmas matter, I 
find it would be a serious incubus to me to have the prospect 
of dining without you on that day, for the first time these 
many years : . . . Lucy . . . being of course well aware that 
I should object to so extended a party. . . . My proposal is 
that you and Christina should come and dine with me at 
Christmas : I would send a comfortable conveyance to fetch 



Pardon my troubling you with these fresh views ; but you 
know that I am almost always alone ; and that I should 
be so even on Christmas-day is what you would not view 
with more pleasure than I should. . . . The matter, I confess, 
weighs somewhat on my mind ; and, if we were apart this 
Christmas, I should view it as a bad omen for the coming 

B 95- 

Friday [14 December 1877]. 

My dearest Mother, 

You know my anxiety lately as to sale of works ; so 
I will not delay (knowing how much you shared in it) the 
information that I have succeeded during the past hour in 


selling the Proserpine, Fiammetta, and the little Kelmscott 
picture, to a Mr. Turner, a new buyer from Manchester. 
Some deduction on my original price was necessary in these 
bad times, on his taking several works together : but still 
1,500 guineas is a round sum, and will set me on my legs 
for the present, besides securing him, I trust, for future 
purchases. It will be better not to mention the sum paid. 
The Fiammetta is simple in its materials, and will not take 
me great trouble to finish. 

Mr. Turner saw and much appreciated the drawings of 
yourself and Christina, of whose poems he is a reader. The 
drawing which it is proposed to publish in autotype is the 
last made of her at Heme Bay. I think I told you that it 
appears an autotype of the old drawing of her which you 
have is current ; how I cannot tell, but suspect Howell must 

have got it done from the original photograph. 

% # * * * * 

C 137. 

Our old friend Frederic George Stephens was alarmingly, almost 
desperately, ill at this time. Mr. Marshall saved his life. "The 
Shelley" is the second form, in three volumes, of the edition of 
Shelley which I brought out, then recently published by Messrs. 
Ward, Lock, & Co. 

Thursday [14 March 1878]. 

My dear William, 

I saw my Mother to-night, and am very anxious to 
know what news you have of good old Stephens. Please 
write me a line. 

Thanks for the Shelley. I am sorry to see that the edition 
is no handsomer than the former one. 

C 138. 
"The Poets'" is my book entiried Lives of Famous Poets. — As to 
Mr. Smetham, see the Memoir, p. 351.— The phrase "the Whitman 
failure " does not mean that my brother paid nothijig to the Whit- 
man Fund, but he paid, I think, less than he had at first intended. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 878. 349 

Monday [25 March 1878]. 

My dear William, 

Thanks for the Poets, which I am beginning to read, 
and Hke much — Butler and Dryden both very good ; I have 
begun at that point. 

It has occurred to me as possible that this kind of book 
might be helpful to Smetham, if he could begin to be roused 
into any interest in reading. He has been seen to take up a 
paper lately, though only for a few minutes. Suppose you 
were to send a copy to Mrs. Smetham, Belle Vue House, 
Kew Green — and charge it to me. I would pay, in spite of 
the Whitman failure. By the bye, I am sorry to see that 
name winding up a summary of great poets : he is really out 
of court in comparison with any one who writes what is not 
sublimated Tupper ; though you know that I am not without 
appreciation of his fine qualities. 

C 139. 

This note refers briefly to the brutal Cand I believe still un- 
explained) street-murder in Edinburgh of the very promising young 
Scottish painter Mr. G. Paul Chalmers. 

Friday [29 March 1878]. 

My dear William, 

I send on a letter and enclosure which I opened before 
I perceived the address was to you. I can't make out how 
this Chalmers came to be killed. 

I dare say you have sent the Poets to Mrs. Smetham. She 
professed to be glad of the prospect when I told her, as 
S[metham] will now listen to reading, and she is short of 
suitable books. 

B 96. 

Wednesdav\J April \%j^. 

My dearest Mother, 

I need not say how glad I shall be to see you 
here. . . . 


I have had my knocker taken off the door ; so a good pull 
at the visitors' bell at the outer gate is necessary ; though 
indeed a bell is to be placed at the doorpost, but may not be 
up by Saturday perhaps. 

You must have thought me very tardy in not coming to 
T[orrington] Square for so long ; but the days have length- 
ened much, and I always find myself so hampered with work 
to the last daylight that I never can find the day when I 
am able to dine earlier than 8-30, as I am obliged to do if I 
come out to you afterwards. . . . 

B 97. 

26 April 1878. 

My dearest Mother, 

As I shall be prevented, I find, from looking in on you 
to-morrow, which is your birthday (unless indeed it be to-day, 
but I think to-morrow), I write a line to show you that you 
are not out of my mind. Your 78th year was one in which 
you brought me as much consolatory tending during a 
time of sickness as at any period of my earlier life ; and, if I 
have since been better, it is in a great measure owing to the 
months of rest which were only rendered tolerable by your 
and Christina's help. I view the approach of summer with 
some apprehension, as, for several years past, it has been my 
worst season, but must hope for the best. 

* * * * * -^ 

I dare say you will be surprised to hear that I have been 
taking up the old large picture of Dante's Dream again, to 
make some alterations in one or two figures ; these I have 
now completed. 

The other day I received a visit from a lady, . . . who 
however appeared to want Christina, in order to get her to 
write her name in a volume of C[hristina]'s Poems which she 
had with her, apparently just purchased. I gave the address, 
and suppose she came on to you : but I did not escape 
writing my own name in the book, on the strength of the 
illustrations ! The good lady reminded me somewhat in 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 879- 351 

appearance of Miss Heaton ; which would surely be physi- 
ognomically probable, as the visit and request were just what 
might have been expected from the Muse of Leeds. 

B 98. 

I September 1878. 

My dearest Mother, 


A piece of news I have for you is that I have re- 
entered on possession of the large Dante's Dream, and hope 
to make it a source of profit. Mr. Valpy, who had fully 
paid up its price, now finds himself in uncertain health and 
compelled to reside in the country, where he will not have 
room to hang so large a work. Accordingly he offers me 
the return of it on very advantageous terms of exchange ; 
consisting in my foregoing the remainder payments on a 
small picture for him (which is finished, and therefore gives 
me no further trouble), and furnishing him with full-size 
replicas of two half-figure pictures, and a half-size replica of 
one other. These will not be troublesome to accomplish ; 
and the bargain amounts pretty much to a fresh commission 
for 2,000 guineas, as I shall certainly try not to let the large 
picture go lower than that. There is ^600 still to pay on 
Fianunetta, which is all but finished, and I have p{5"5oo now in 
the Bank, with other prospects : so at last things look a little 
better than usual. I am particular as to these commercial 
details, since I know how anxious you are as to my prospects. 
I wrote at last to Signer Gamberale (my translator), and 

transmitted all our regards to him. 

* * * * * * 


27 April 1879. 

My dearest Mother, 

I must not let this anniversary pass without showing 
by at least a word that I keep it in remembrance ; though 

blessing comes better from you to me than from me to you. 

* * * * * * 


I have been working on three pictures, viz. : a new version 
of The Blessed Dainosel\ a Lady of the Window {Vita 
Niiovd) ; and a Mneviosym (ci-devant Hero !) for Leyland 
■ — but this alas paid up. Times are very bad, but I must 
hope the other two will somehow bring grist to the mill. 
However, I have remnant commissions leaving a considerable 
aggregate amount to receive — from Graham and Leyland ; 
but the health of the former has been so long uncertain 
that he can hardly yet be troubled. However, I am in 
every way glad to hear that he is now decidedly mending 
at Algiers — indeed, I am told nearly well again. 

* , * * * # # 

B loo. 

It may be readily surmised that the Lecture mentioned in this 
note was the one written by Mr. Hall Caine. 

29 July 1879. 

My DEAREST Mother, 

I know you always love all friendliness towards me 
and my work ; so I enclose a letter I got, and will send 
the Lecture alluded to in a day or two. I shall try to 
know the writer, who has done his work well, and in the 
spirit I most wish. I had heard of him already as delivering 
such a lecture, I believe more than once, but do not other- 
wise know anything of him. 

^i # * * * * 

Poor Smetham came home ; but has had to go back 
again, being no better. 

* * * * * * 

B loi. 

As to Brown's "two years' slumbers," see the Memoir, page 564. 

Mrs. Laura Valentine was (or is) the compiler of a volume 
entitled Gems of NatioJial Poetry. A "gem" of mine — written 
in or about 1848, and published at the time in the Athenceum— 
appeared in her book. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — I 879. 353 

Sunday [17 August 1879]. 

My dearest Mother, 

* # * * * * 

' Old Brown seems to have awakened from his two 
years' slumbers, and wants to come and dine to-morrow. 
I told him that he was as welcome as he would have been 
all along. He must be dreadfully full of news, and needs 
to pour it even into me. You know he has finished his 
first picture at the Townhall, Manchester, and it is a great 
success. The pay (between ourselves) is most wretched — 
£2yo a picture ; and each must take him at least six months 
of such hard work as I never knftw him do before. 

* * * * * * 

By the bye, who is Laura Valentine — does Christina 
know ? — who wrote me lately that C[hristina] and William (!) 
had consented that some of their "lovely" poetry should 
appear in a collection of hers, and asked me for a very 
trifling thing of mine, which I declined to contribute as 
too slight. What are C[hristina] and W[illiam] sending? 
However, all this is not to bother you or her for an answer, 
but merely to fill paper. 

* * ■».; * * * 

I am getting on rapidly with Graham's predellas, and 
hear he is to be in England by end of October. 

F II. 

The book by Christina here mentioned is her devotional volume 
named Seek and Find. Mrs. Stillman was sitting for the Vision 
of Fianwietta. 

Wednesday [8 October 1879]. 

My dear Christina, 

Many thanks for your book, which I see is full of 
eloquent beauties. I am sorry to notice that — in my own 
view — it is most seriously damaged, for almost all if not 
for all readers, by the confusion of references with the text, 
which they completely smother. Surely these should all 

VOL. IL 23 


have been marginal, and not nearly so numerous. Shields, 
who was of course much interested in seeing the book, 
took quite the same view in this. 

Mrs. Stillman has begun her sittings to-day, which last 
for five hours at a stretch (necessarily), and leave me rather 
wearied in my somewhat weak state. She is graciousness 
itself, and received with cordial return the remembrances 
you sent. 

C 140. 

My brother got very ill in October 1879, owing to a more than 
commonly excessive dose of chloral. This note, following a visit 
of mine on the preceding day, was written soon after the attack 
began ; and from this time onwards I made a point of seeing him 
regularly every Monday. The severity of the attack was over in 
a week or so; and on the whole, between October 1879 and 
September 1881, when he went to Cumberland for fresh air and 
change of scene, he was, I think, about as well in health and spirits 
as he had been at any ordinary time since the summer of 1874. 

[19 October. 1879.] 

My dear William, 

I am so low and lonely that it would be a great boon 
if you could come up for an hour or two this evening. I 
know it is a tax on you, but tell Lucy, with my love, that I 
hope she will not mind. 

C 141. 

Sunday [2 November. 1879]. 

My dear William, 

Would there be a chance of you to dinner on 
Wednesday ? Monday and Tuesday I have other visitors, 
and find it best if possible to bespeak visits separately, so as 
to avoid solitary evenings as much as possible. 


D. G. R. 

Love to Lucy, who I trust does well. 

FAMILY LETTERS — 1 879. 355 

B 102. 

Our Sister's poem of Goblin Market was set to music as a 
cantata by Mr. Aguilar — and with much success, if I may venture 
to express an opinion on a musical subject. 

29 November. [1879]. 

My dearest Mother, 

I have been thinking for some time of writing a Hne 
though indeed I felt sure you must get tidings of me through 
William, who has been here several times. I am very much 
better — indeed, pretty much in my usual state now, were 
it not for a bad cold these last few days, which however 
will of course pass off. I have finished the replica of the 
large picture for Graham, all but the figure of Beatrice in 
which I mean to make an alteration. The two predella- 
subjects are also finished. 

Dunn has just returned from Truro, but will have to go 
back there for awhile in connexion with the portrait he has 
been painting. Scott has often spent the evening with me, 
and is always intellectual and interesting. Miss Boyd returns 
to London to-day. 

I hear there is a decided improvement in trade. Even 
cotton at Manchester, which seemed the most hopeless, is 
looking up decidedly and rather rapidly. Iron, copper, 
and coal mines, also on the mend. You may perhaps think 
this report not much in my line, but I view it as vitally 
wound up with the picture-market. 

I was glad to hear of some venturous mortal having set 
Goblin Market to music, though I cannot exactly see the aim 
and end of the act unless he has a public performance in 
view and at command. It would hardly do for a 5 or 10 
minutes' brilliant trifling at the evening piano. 

I hardly dare hope that Aunt Eliza is seriously improving. 
Will you give my love to her as well as to Christina ? 

C 142. 

When this note was written I had gone to Birmingham, to deliver 
a lecture (one of two) on The Wives of Poets. 


Tuesday [17 February 1880]. 

Dear William, 

I have been reading with vast amusement Cottle's 
Coleridge which you lent me ; but I can only find vol. i., 
and have hunted in vain over the whole house for vol. ii. 
If you've got it, I do wish you'd send it by post, for few 
things are so funny. I suppose you will be home by 

Give my love to Lucy, of whom I heard a much better 
account from Brown, who looked in yesterday evening, and 
was as genial as he always is. I hope you had an apprecia- 
tive audience at Birmingham, and shall be curious to hear 
about this. I dare say I shall see you one day next week. 
Wednesday would suit me well, as I almost think we agreed 
it should be. 

■ C 143. 

Stinday [22 February 1880]. 

My DEAR William, 

* * * - * * * 

I hope you may be able to give me a favourable 
report of your second lecture also, when I see you. Love to 
Lucy. I have been much enjoying Donne, who is full of 
excellences, and not brimming but rather spilling with 


H 4. 
My DEAR Lucy, 

Tuesday [? March 1880]. 


I will hope to see you and show you the picture on 
Friday if that suits best, or else on Monday. 

1 must seem as bad an uncle as the one in The Children 
in the Wood almost ; only your two are fortunately better 
cared for, to say nothing of the third. But I have been so 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1880. 357 

far from well lately that I will not be proposing to try and 

render myself tolerable as a new " object " to Olive just now ; 

though heartily believe me that I love her and your others, 

and look forward to their future with as true an interest as 

any one. 

Ever, dear Lucy, 

Affectionately yours, 

D. Gabriel R. 

C 144. 

Tuesday [13 April 1880]. 

My dear William, 

When next you come, would you bring any book 
that gives a good account of the White Ship matter, if you 
have one ? After you went away I wrote some more verses 
of it ; but am rather at a loss for some of the particulars, 
though some I know. 1 should like to read all Henry I., 
but don't possess an English history ! ! 

Your affectionate 

D. G. R. 

What you told me about little Olive is most interesting. 
Will you give my love to Lucy ? 

B 103. 

This letter relates partly to my brother's sonnet on The Sojinet, 
.and to the design which he had made in illustration of it (engraved 
in Mr. William Sharp's book). He had presented them as a 
birthday gift to our Mother, inserted into a copy of Mr. Main's book 
on English Sonnet-Literature. The picture here named Va?ina 
Primavera is the same which is now known as The Daydream. 

27 April 1880. 

My dearest Mother, 

It was sweet indeed to me to receive this day, and 
written in so firm a hand, the reassurance of what was the 
first thing I learned to know in this world — my Mother's love. 
I wish the little offering had been worthier of such a shrine. 


I like Christina's sonnet extremely ; it is lovely in its heartfelt 

I have no doubt that your discerning eyes plucked out 
the heart of the mystery in the little design. In it the Soul 
is instituting the " memorial to one dead deathless hour," 
a ceremony easily effected by placing a winged hour-glass in 
a rose-bush, at the same time that she touches the fourteen- 
stringed harp of the Sonnet, hanging round her neck. On 
the rose-branches trailing over in the opposite corner is seen 
hanging the Coin, which is the second symbol used for the 
Sonnet. Its "face" bears the Soul, expressed in the butterfly; 
its " converse," the Serpent of Eternity enclosing the Alpha 
and Omega. All this I doubt not you had seen for yourself 

I shall soon be letting you have the ballad of the White 
Ship, which William on Monday pronounced one of my 
very best things. I hope you will think so too. 

I have made great progress with the Vanna Primavera 
picture since you saw it. The figure is now full-length, and 
looks very well. 

B 104. 

The " sycamore-tree " appears in the picture of The Daydream. 
The sonnet which my brother wrote for that picture dwells on this 
matter of early Spring buds and later leaves. 

Thursday [7 May 1880]. 

My dearest Mother, 

I hope to be seeing you" soon. Meanwhile I send you 
(at last) the ballad of The White Ship, which I hope will 
please you. Only three — William, Watts, and Shields — have 
heard it, and all express great approval. Every incident, 
including that of the boy at the end, is given in one or other 
account of the event. You must not be at the exertion, on 
any account, of writing to acknowledge this. 

I am painting the sycamore-tree in my picture. Every- 
thing is so backward that I can still get the early Spring buds, 
when I want them, as well as larger leaves. 

FAMILYJ.ETTERS — l88o. 359 

I hope you found enjoyment in the Sonnet-book : I did 
much. It is full of excellent examples, and the Notes have 
much information. There is a Sonneteer quoted among the 
living ones, in the Notes, of the name of William Watson. 
He sent me the other day a volume of poems, the chief one 
in which is called The Prince's Quest. Did he send it to 
Christina, I wonder? I shall hear when I see you. You 
may suppose I thought of C[hristina's] Prince's Progress, and 
did not fail to say so in acknowledgment. But it is good, 
and on the opposite tack to Christina's, ending happily ; on 
a somewhat similar scheme as far as the Sleeping Beauty 
sort of origin is concerned. 

I don't know that there is anything else in particular to 
say in the way of news. 

C 145- 
The drawings by Blake here mentioned are a set belonging to 
a member of the Varley family, which had been left with Mr, 
W. B. Scott, and by him shown to my brother. My Catalogue is 
the list of Blake's works compiled by me for Gilchrist's Life of 
Blake : I was then revising and enlarging it with a view to the 
forthcoming new edition of that work. 

Friday [7 May 1880]. 

My dear William, 

1 have here some twenty drawings by Blake, of which 
you may like to take notes, for your Catalogue, on Monday. 
One of them seems to me the same head as one (I think 
a female born under sign Cancer) in Varley's Zodiacal 
Physiognomy. Could you make a tracing of that to compare ? 
I am almost sure that this head is said in some part of the 
text to be by Blake. 

These drawings are all visionary heads : among them one 
of Saul — probably that to which you allude as untraceable, 
in your Catalogue. 


D. G. R. 

I suspect this head to be Mrs. Blake, 


C 146. 

My brother was about this time particularly interested in all that 
related to Thomas Chatterton. I therefore sent him a slight scribble 
from a portrait, nominally Chatterton, preserved in the Museum 
at the Peel Park, Manchester, which I had lately visited. 

4 July 1880. 

My dear William, 

Thanks for the sketch of the Chatterton portrait (so 
called), for which Chatterton never sat, and which Hogarth 
never painted. Chatterton's portrait was never done by any 
one in his life-time, and Hogarth died when Chatterton was 
12 or 13 at Bristol. I know this portrait, having bought 
a photo of it when exhibited at Kensington. 

It is a singular fact that this and a still younger-looking 
portrait (a life-sized oil head in the possession of Sir H. 
Taylor, and of which I have seen an engraving) seem certainly 
to represent the same individual, as does also a rougher old 
engraving I have seen, not in same position as either. The 
only possible theory I can see is this. One of Chatterton's 
poems is addressed to a certain Alcock, a Bristol miniature- 
painter whom he seems to have known personally. Now, if 
Alcock had painted him in his lifetime^ the fact would have 
turned up with all otheYs in the very rapid celebrity which 
followed his death. But it would be almost strange if Alcock 
(supposing him to be then still alive) had not been asked to 
make a reminiscent sketch of Chatterton ; and from such a 
source these portraits may possibly be derived. They seem 
to acquire additional attraction from a certain resemblance 
in them to the type of Keats. 

* * * * * * 

• B 105. 

" Nearly as bald as I am now." My brother was partially bald — 
say from the year 1874 or so ; but to the last he was not bald in any 
marked degree. 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 88o. 361 


My dearest Mother, 


Ned Jones was here yesterday evening, and told me 
he had met you and Christina in the Academy. He lately, in 
a friendly way, expressed a wish to come and see me more 
regularly, so I shall perhaps be seeing more of him. He is 
nearly as bald as I am now, though six years younger. His 
boy Phil has just completed his first term at Oxford. 

* * * * * * 

Perhaps you have read of Tom Taylor's death. I knew 
him wel] some years ago. He seems lately to have had some 
sort of stroke, but wrote to the papers to say it was an attack 
of gout (in denial of their statement). However, he has 
corroborated them by dying, poor man ! He was not always 
an unprejudiced critic, I think ; but he was a man of many 
private charities, which will miss him sorely. 


I am always 

Your most loving 


As you have developed the Sonnet taste, I'll copy one on 
Blake on the other side. 

[Here follows the Sonnet " This is the place " etc.] 

F 12. 

Thomas Dixon, here mentioned, had retired from the business of 
Cork-cutter in Sunderland : he was the " Working Man " to whom 
Ruskin addressed his letters published under the title Time and Tide 
by Wear and Tyne. The article in The Pe7i was written, as my 
brother afterwards ascertained, by Mrs. Meynell. 

Friday [16 July 1880]. 

My dear Christina, 

I am very glad to hear such thriving news of you both. 
I may as well write a line in return while I have the pen in 
my hand. 


I think I told you of a visit I had a few weeks ago from 
Thomas Dixon of Sunderland (whom you must have long 
heard of, since Newcastle days with Scotus), and Joseph 
Skipsey the northern collier-poet, a man of real genius. The 
other day I was shocked to get a letter from Skipsey 
announcing poor Dixon's death. Having overdone exertion 
in London, he succumbed to chronic asthma on his return. 
He was a worthy man ; indeed, I never knew of any one 
individual in any walk of life — even a much higher one than 
his — who was so entirely devoted to promoting intellectual 
good among those within his reach. 

I remembered afterwards that Temple Bar was not the 
paper containing an article on that great subject, but a paper 
called The Pen which seems since to have died. Whether it 
" let itself be snuffed out by that article " I don't know. I 
may perhaps have a copy sent me yet by a friend, but have 
not seen it. 

As our Mother and you liked the Sonnet on Blake, I'll put 
one on Chatterton overpage, but I'm afraid you don't know 
much about him. 

Your affectionate 


[Here follows the Sonnet " With Shakespear's manhood " 


Are you within reach of Pevensey Castle — a beautiful ruin ? 

B 106. 

The picture out of which my brother was now taking the painted 
head, and painting in another, is The Daydream. The friend who 
proposed to give him a seal was Mr. Bates, a Picture-dealer in 
Leeds — a thoughtful discerning man whom Rossetti saw several 
times towards this date. 

{July 1880.] 

My dearest Mother, 

I dare say you would like to see TJie Pen, which I 
send. The beneficent article on myself seems to have killed 

FAMILY-LETTERS— t88o. 363 

off the paper, for it appeared no more ! I don't think the 
rest of the family are dwelt upon sufficiently, and they might 
have presented a portrait of the Teak gratis. 

Will you let me have the paper again when done with ? 

I forget if 1 told you that I was doing the dire deed of 
taking out the head in my picture, which I never thought 
quite equal to the cartoon. I have now got it fairly advanced 
in a new form, and more to my satisfaction. 

I heard from Scotus in much sorrow at poor Dixon's death. 
I enclose a cutting respecting D[ixon]. Also an impression 
of a seal which a friend proposes to give me. It is of bronze, 
and was dug up in Pontefract Castle — is supposed " on good 
authority " to have been the signet ring of Richard II. It 
does look rather like, but then why not make it to order ? It 
seems to me the original would have been in gold. 

C 147- 

The Sonnet here spoken of is one written by me, Shellefs Heart ; 
which had been published some years before, and was now to be 
republished in a volume of Selections. My brother proposed some 
verbal changes in it — of which I adopted (if I remember right) all 
but one. The Life of Foe, mentioned at the close of his note, is 
that written by Mr. Ingram. I had lent the book to my brother. 

Wednesday [25 August 1880]. 

Dear William, 

Pray include all the changes. With them, the Sonnet 
is quite exceptionally fine ; — without, pardon my saying that 
it reads somewhat obscurely as regards construction of nouns 
and adjectives, and somewhat cumbrously, in spite of the 
main beauties' being all there. I have made a MS. copy in 
case needed. 

The Life of Poe is most interesting. 


C 148. 

This note refers to Philip Bourke Marston, the blind poet, who 
could not well get on now without some personal attendance. 
The plan proposed was carried out ; Miss Robinson (Madame 
Darmesteter) kindly undertaking the small business arrangements 

The last paragraph indicates (apparently) some illness affecting 
W. B. Scott. 

Wednesday night [15 December 1880]. 

My dear William, 

I forgot to mention to you that Scott told me of a 
plan started (but as yet to be kept rather quiet till a few 
can combine) to subscribe, by a guinea apiece, a year's 55 
guineas for Philip Marston, to enable him to charter a lad 
for help of all kinds. Scott thought you the best man to do 
the little organizing necessary, and I said I would speak 
to you. Watts says he will subscribe a guinea yearly — so 
will Scott — so will I. 

To-day I got enclosed from Miss Boyd and Scotus com- 
bined. You will regret the tidings, but his pencilled note 
looks firm. 

With love to Lucy, 

Your affectionate 

D. G. R. 

B 107. 

Dr. Olivieri was an estimable and cultivated Italian, much 
afflicted by ill-health and other troubles. I question whether my 
brother ever met him personally, but he was known, more or less, 
to other members of the family. He died some years ago. 

23 December 1880. 

My DEAREST Mother, 

This letter is not written with the least idea of 

troubling you to answer ; and indeed I would not write if I 

thought that. 


Yesterday I had a note from poor Dr. Olivieri, enclosing 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1880. 365 

a little book of Italian stories for schools, with a dedicatory 
MS. Sonnet to myself Poor man ! I felt what this must 
mean at Christmas-time, and responded as best I could. I 
have no doubt he deserves sympathy. He spoke with much 
gratitude of your anonymous donation. 

I saw Mr. Graham yesterday, who is most affectionate and 
friendly to me, but alas no longer a picture-buyer. His state 
of health is melancholy, and curious in a man surrounded by 
an exceptionally loving and gracious family. TcBdiuiii vit<z 
appears to be the main evil. 

I saw Waddington's Sonnet-book, with a good many of 
mine and Christina's in it. I have not a copy, but Watts 
brought one in. I will subjoin, for your favourable notice, a 
Sonnet I have done on Michelangelo's Holy Family in the 
National Gallery. In this picture the Virgin is withdrawing 
from the Child the book which contains the prophecy of his 
sufferings — I suppose that of Isaiah. The idea is a most 
beautiful one ; and behind this group are Angels perusing a 
scroll. Shields was helpful to me in the interpretation of 
this. I possess another photograph, having the same in- 
tention in the actions of the Virgin and Child, by Sandro 
Botticelli ; but whether the motif was a usual one I do not 
further know. 

I have finished the picture of La Pia, which now really 
looks very fine and perfect. 

* * « * * # 

[Here follows the Sonnet " Turn not the Prophet's page " 

B 108. 

Monday Jii'gkt [27 December 1880]. 

My dearest Mother, 

Thanks most truly for your loving and firmly-written 
note. It has been a great privation to me to see nothing of 
you, but I am often unfit to see any one. My bodily health is 
fair enough. 

I fully expected till quite late to spend Christmas alone, 


but of course was glad to see William and Lucy, who 
brightened me up somewhat, though I was not at all brilliant 
when they arrived. 

William has been here again this evening, and is the truest 
of true brothers. 

I was grieved to hear that Aunt Charlotte's visit to London 
is delayed, though not through ill-health of her own. 

With love to dear Christina and to my Aunt, I am 

Your loving Son, 


H 5- 
Mr. Madox Brown was now staying (though not as yet per- 
manently settled) in Manchester, busily occupied with his pictures 
for the Townhall there. I don't remember who was the " Bard " 
sojourning for a while in his house : perhaps some local semi- 
celebrity. The " old poem " by my brother was, I think, the one 
entitled Soothsay. — " The Michelangelo point " affected the design 
by this master called The Archers. 

[? December 1880]. 

My dear Lucy, 

It occurs to me to write you a line as to the White 
Ship. I was most happy that it should be sent to your 
Father, but think it very needful it should not be shown to 
others. I find the ideas and even phrases of poetry get so 
soon caught up that a thing shown in MS. is actually liable 
to charges of plagiarism when it appears, owing to what it 
has already furnished to others. 

I dare say you would of your own accord have avoided 
showing it ; but I would be obliged if, in writing to your 
Papa, you would just say a word on the point — though he 
cannot perhaps avoid showing it at home, where it seems 
there is now a Bard. I trust he will not, on my account, let 
it go out of his hands. 

Pardon my troubling you on this point. I was very much 
concerned to hear from William on Monday that you were 
not free from touches of ill-health or at any rate incon- 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 88 1. 367 

venience. I trust you did not get any worse by so kindly 
coming to the rescue of my otherwise solitary Christmas. 
I enjoyed the evening much, and was much pleased with 
the favour that old poem found with you and William. 

Affectionately yours, 
D. Gabriel R. 

On second thoughts I will write a line to your Papa, as I 
want to speak on the Michelangelo point. 

F 13. 

\January 1881.] 

My dear Christina, 

Your most welcome note arrived just as I had been 
seized with a sudden (and unreasonable) panic as to its non- 
arrival. You know how these things lay hold of one. I am 
not surprised at the diminished chance of seeing Aunt Char- 
lotte and yourself in this weather. Indeed, I should feel your 
visit at present as rather a responsibility to my own con- 
science. But let us hope for something like a thaw. 

As you said our dearest Mother was no less than "delighted" 
with my last Sonnet \_Michelangelds Holy Family]^ I send 
another just written last night. With me, Sonnets mean 

With love to her and all, 

Your affectionate 


The octave is a grim anecdote, but, as you doubtless know, 

[Here follows the Sonnet Cleopatrd s Needle in London?^ 

B 109. 

Friday [1881]. 

My dearest Mother, 


Nothing could have brought so much pleasure to my 
solitary room as your entrance. Perhaps a finer day may 


make it possible yet, or else I do trust to find my way ere 
long to you. I have sometimes felt myself to be such poor 
company, when I have come down at long intervals, that 
this has partly deterred me ; and the discouragements of the 
year have only increased to its close. I will not despair, 
however, of improved times ; it would not be the first occasion 
when something unexpected has brightened matters for me. 
I am far from meaning to say that worldly fortunes are 
everything ; but I cannot yet afford to give up a house suited 
to an artist's needs, and so give [up] a chance of improvement 
by work ; yet it is all beyond present income. Perhaps I 
ought not to have troubled you by entering on such points, 
but it seems natural to confide in you. 

The picture of La Pia looks well, and will not quite yet 
be leaving me ; so perhaps I may still show it to you — and 
to Aunt Charlotte also, if coming to town. 

Of course, in speaking of bad luck in my own case, I 
should not forget that the times are bad for all, and that 
I am no absolute exception. 
With love all round. 

Your most affectionate 


C 149. 

When this note was written I was about starting for Newcastle 
and Glasgow, to deliver some lectures : a few days before there had 
been a formidable " blizzard," still well remembered by Londoners. 
" The Calf-picture " is the one named Found, so often taken up by 
my brother, yet never quite finished. 

Friday [28 January 1881]. 

My dear William, 

I write a line to say that I will reckon on seeing you 
next Thursday week, as arranged. I hope you will have 
fair weather for travelling. It has so happened, by a series 
of accidents, that I have been almost entirely alone lately. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 88 1. 369 

and feeling a good deal depressed. However, I am making 
good way with the Calf-picture. 
With love to Lucy, 

Your affectionate 


C 150. 

Very shortly before my going off on the lecturing-trip my brother 
had urged me to try my hand once again at verse-writing ; he 
suggested a series of " Democratic Sonnets," dealing with appro- 
priate events of my own life-time. While on my trip I determined 
to make the experiment, and produced (with others) a Sonnet on 
Garibaldi — the one he here acknowledges. The Blessed Damozel 
which he had now sold was a second version of the picture pre- 
viously disposed of to Mr. Graham, but differing considerably from 
that in detail. It remained on my brother's hands unsold for an 
unwontedly long time, but had at length been purchased by Mr. 

Friday [4 February 1881]. 

My dear William, 

I rejoice to see so fine a sonnet, and shall await the 
others with great interest. You may be the family bard yet. 

I hope to see you on Thursday of next week. You will 
be glad to hear that I have at last sold Blessed Damozel to 
very fair advantage, and got the tin. 

H 6. 

Friday [4 February 1881]. 

My dear Lucy, 

I write a line to say chiefly how pleased I am at the 
fine sonnet William has sent me on Garibaldi. It seems he 
has already done 5 others ! I hope to see him (and if 
possible you) Thursday of next week. 

You will be glad to hear that I have at last sold the Blessed 
Damozel in a way to ease completely my present position. 
The Found progresses rapidly. 

VOL. II. 24 


I hope you and the babies are thriving. Love to them 
from their phantasmal uncle, and to yourself from a less 
phantasmal brother-in-law. 

H 7. 

The reference here to the House of Lords arises from the fact 
that Mr. Madox Brown had been wishful to see some resumption 
of the scheme of adorning that building with historical pictures, and 
to undertake some of the work himself He thought, I believe, 
more especially of the rooms where Dyce and Maclise had painted. 
My brother, in Brown's interest, consulted Lord Mount-Temple, 
who had at an earlier date been Chief Commissioner of Works. 

O'Shaughnessy was (I need hardly say) the poet Arthur O'Shaugh- 
nessy, well known to my brother. He had married a daughter of 
Dr. Westland Marston : this lady preceded him to an early grave. 

Monday [7 Feb7-uary 1S81]. 

My DEAR Lucy, 


Many thanks for copying William's sonnets. They 
are not so fine as the very fine one on Garibaldi^ but neither 
are the subjects equal — except perhaps Mazzini, of which I 
think he will yet make more. These sonnets are pointed and 
vigorous, but with a certain tendency to the Browningesque 
in respect of crowded phraseology. I think he is doing them 
rather too fast, though I am very pleased to think he means 
what he is about. I think the finest of those you send is 
The Republic. I do not think the one on Louis Philippe 
quite fair. 1 shall be glad of an opportunity of talking them 
over with him. 

I was very sorry to find from Lord Mount-Temple that 
there is no chance for your father, or indeed for any other 
painter, in the House of Lords. He seems, however, to be 
working on strenuously and happily as ever. Manchester 
must surely revive, and then I count his luck sure. 

With warm return of love (sincere, believe me, though 

vague it be), I am ever 

Your affectionate 

D. Gabriel R. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1881. 3/1 

As perhaps you have not heard about O'Shaughnessy, I 
may tell you. A fortnight back from to-day he went to the 
Princess's Theatre, and returned to Bayswater on top of an 
omnibus. Next day he felt a chill, but went to the Museum. 
After that he stayed in, saw a doctor who made little of it, 
made little of it himself ; but eventually stayed in bed, and 
had friends to read to him. On the Saturday evening some 
friend proposed fetching Dr. Marston, but he said there could 
be no necessity. At 7, on Sunday morning before last, 
he died. It seems to have been congestion of the lungs 
affecting the heart. I heard the particulars from Philip 
Marston, who spent one evening here : they are certainly 
most melancholy. It seems his Mother has now only £;^o 
a year, and will try to make things fit by living with a sister, 

B no. 

The present " Beatrice picture " is the one called The Salutation 
of Beatrice. Though not finished, it was very advanced at the date 
of my brother's death. 

Wednesday [3 March 1881]. 

My dearest Mother, 

I write a line chiefly because I have been so long 
without writing. I have, however, the news that I have sold 
a couple of chalk-drawings, amounting to 200 guineas. So 
things are improving a little. ... I have not got on much 
with painting lately, but have the Beatrice picture and the 
Found in a very forward state. 

I have written at last the long ballad about Catherine 

Douglas and the murder of James the First of Scotland. 

Some day you must see it. It is really a success — nearly 

three times as long as The White Ship. 


C 151. 
My " Sonnet on the Transvaal " was an expression of disgust at 
the English annexation of that Dutch territory, and at the military 
expedition then endeavouring, under orders from the Beaconsfield 


ministry, to confirm the annexation by force. The righteous and 
magnanimous pohcy of the succeeding Gladstone Government in 
putting a stop to the war made the Sonnet out of date. The latter 
portion of my brother's letter will be perceived to relate to his poem 
of The Kmg's Tragedy. Professor Nichol of Glasgow had lately been 
my kind host for a few days in the Scottish city. 

Wednesday [9 March 1881]. 

My dear William, 

I was very glad to hear that you were progressing all 
right, of which Lucy kindly wrote me full though duly severe 
particulars. It would of course give me great pleasure if T 
could see you both on Monday, and even the more if Brown 
could accompany you. But of course I view it as still rather 
doubtful whether you could come out so soon. 

I think your Sonnet on the Transvaal forcible, fine, and 
most appropriate. The last line alone — " Butcher of hundreds 
of intrepid men" — seems rather flat, partly owing to the two ofs. 
But I think an adjective to butcher such as self-constituted or 
something equivalent or appropriate, and the omission of 
hundreds of, would much improve the line. 

Would you do me a favour by writing to Professor Nichol, 
and asking him what sufficient authority exists for Gilfillan's 
statement as follows : — " It [Catherine Douglas's arm] is 
broken in a moment, and she sinks back, to bear, with her 
descendants — a family well known in Scotland — the name 
of Barlass ever since." I can find nothing about Barlass 
elsewhere ; and, as the leading Scottish historians must be 
accessible to Prof. Nichol, perhaps he would kindly look 
up the point. J. Hill Burton (the latest) has nothing, and is 
very superficial altogether on the subject of James I. 

I should like also to know, if Mr. Nichol happens to know 
(but it is not at all an essential point), what was the site of the 
Charterhouse of Perth. 

H 8. 

My brother good-naturedly copied out his historical ballad of 
The White Ship, and sent it to my wife — with some inscription, I 


think, to our children ; the eldest then aged five, and the second 
four. Hence the allusion to " the babes and the ballad." . 

Wednesday [? March 1881]. 

My dear Lucy, 

I need hardly say that it will give me great pleasure 
to see you here in William's company on Monday. 

Your account of the babes and the ballad gives me an 
insight into their young sympathies which is very welcome. 
No criticism could have pleased me better. 

Your affectionate Brother, 

D. Gabriel R. 

H 9. 

Sunday [? March 1881]. 

My dear Lucy, 

I was much concerned to hear from William that he 
had been and still was so seriously laid up. Would he or you 
let me know how he progresses ? . . . I should think sore 
throat must have resulted in two sonnets instead of one daily 
on William's part. I hope the ailment does not make his 
political poetics quite inexorable. 

I finished the ballad a day or two after I saw you, and 
Watts thinks it my best performance. It is more than twice- 
and-a-half as long as the White Ship. 

Your affectionate 


I am afraid the bogy-parts of the new ballad would be too 
much for your babes, to say nothing of the murder. 

H 10. 

From this letter, and from some which follow, it will be 
perceived that I had continued writing my Democratic Sonnets, 
and that my brother considered some of them neither proper nor 
prudent. I might have missed out these letters altogether from ray 
collection, but prefer to insert them, along with a few words of 


explanation on my own part. He particularly instances a Sonnet 
named Tyranfiicide, and another named Fenians. I think he 
plumped, with kind fraternal nervousness, upon a supposition of 
what the Sonnets might possibly say, without deliberately attending 
to what they do say. I will be aboveboard with my readers, and 
insert the Sonnets here ; and I ask any reader to decide two 
plain questions. Does the Sonnet on Tyrannicide say any more 
than this ? That, whatever may be the theoretical opinion enter- 
tained about the act (and it is mere matter of fact that, in all 
ages and countries, some people have justified it), we are not 
to pity the actual or attempted tyrant-slayer when he gets put 
to death, inasmuch as he voluntarily incurred a doom which 
is and ought to be a capital sentence ? And does not the Sonnet 
on Feniafzs say that Fenians act with blameable frenzy, consequent 
though that frenzy is upon a sense of wrongs to their country, 
which really have been wrongs, and demand redress ? 


We cannot argue of Tyrannicide. 

An instinct in the world avows it just ; * 

The laws abhor it, and they will and must. 
Pity him not, the man by whom have died 
Innocent lives, slain by his act who tried 

And failed to reach the tyrant : if his bust 

Be ranged with Scaevola's, his head, august 
Or truculent, must p.iy the debt, and slide 
Red to the pannier as the hatchet falls. 

He asks no pity ; he who aimed that blow 

Struck hands with Death, and made of Death his scoff. 
Pity still less those few — like lurid balls 

Of fire which pierce dim ravening gulfs of woe — 
A Brutus, Chserea, Corday, Elnikoff". 


An Irish patriot we have called a felon : 

No matter; there were always things and names. 

Let's dub a thimblerig the king of games ; 
Melon termed pumpkin still will taste of melon. 
An Irish felon-patriot is a man 

Who loves his countiy splotched with alien shames, 

And dares a halter. And, if history blames 
His frenzy, let us try the manlier plan 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 88 1. 375 

To win him back. With kindness? Hardly that — 
Bare justice ; for Oppression's dastard heel 

Stamped Ireland's brow, and made our name accurst. 
Murder and confiscation set their seal 
Of agelong outrage on her. Bell the cat ; 

Strain not the intolerant sinews till they burst. 

My wife was not dismayed by my brother's most kindly-intended 
and in part very sensible letter ; neither was I ; and for some while 
ensuing I continued with diligence writing my Democratic Sonnets. 
Eventually I left them off, prompted by two feelings. First and 
foremost, I have never supposed myself to be authentically a 
poet. Second, I had contemplated a series of a hundred Sonnets, 
and less than this would not have made a volume of any tolerable 
size ; but among my hundred subjects I found in practice that 
several did not inspire me at all, and the result was that, amid 
some Sonnets more or less admissible, came others which I 
acknowledged to myself as bad. 1 have no ambition to swell 
the densely crowded ranks of the well-meaning in verse who are 
also the mediocre. 

For a moment I will recur to the first of the two Sonnets quoted. 
It refers, and is intended to refer, only to Tyrannicide, and has 
no bearing upon any such political assassination as that of President 
Carnot — who was not in any sense a tyrant, but a State-magistrate, 
lawfully appointed and acting lawfully. 

12 April i88i. 

My dear Lucy, 

I hope you will not think my step a mistaken one 
when I choose this moment to write you a letter on what I 
cannot but consider a very serious subject. 

Several of William's truest friends, no less than myself, are 
greatly alarmed at the tone taken in some of his Sonnets 
respecting " Tyrannicide," Fenianism, and other incendiary 
subjects. It seems to me and to others that the consequences 
are absolutely and very perilously uncertain when an official 
(as William is) of a monarchical government allows himself 
such unbridled license of public speech. The prosecution 
against the Editor of the FreiJieit seems very ominous to us, 
and perfectly just. The least evil I should apprehend, were 


William to persist in including these subjects, would be the 
certainty of his never attaining the final step of the Secretary- 
ship in his office which he so well deserves. But very much 
worse consequences than this seem to all of us but too likely ; 
and my object in writing this letter is to awaken your mind 
to the clear possibility of absolute ruin, in such a case, for my 
dear brother, and his family whom he loves so well. The 
very title, Democratic Sonnets, seems to me most objectionable 
when coming from one who depends on the Government 
for his bread. It may be objected that I myself suggested 
his writing this series. So I did ; but I thought only of 
the events of Jus time, and my mind was . not sufficiently 
aroused to the purposes he would make such a theme 

It is extremely painful to me to trouble you on this subject, 
while in your present delicate state ; but I really can keep 
silence no longer, the series being so far advanced ; also I do 
not venture to speak to William direct, lest his first impulse 
should be to resent it as an encroachment, and so frustrate 
all attempt to avert what I and others view as a great 

I shall await with the greatest anxiety the result of the 
step I am now taking — remaining, my dear Lucy, 

Affectionately yours, 


C 152. 

12 April 1881. 

My DEAR William, 

It is with the utmost humility, and only at the absolute 
call of brotherly love, that I have ventured to write a letter to 
Lucy, which she will doubtless show you, on an affair of your 
own which I have thought much on without speaking to you 
in any positive way, but with which I believe the gravest 
consequences may be involved. I have done so from no 
presumption, but because, in view of your welfare, I felt more 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 88 1. 377 

and more that I could do no otherwise. That you may- 
consider it seriously, and that it may cause no kind of division 
between us, are my two fervent hopes. 

Your affectionate Brother, 


My dearest Mother, 

Tuesday [12 April 1881]. 

* -» * * * * 

I have enjoyed nothing so much for years as your and 
Christina's short stay here, and hope it may be renewed ere 

I have taken, with great anxiety, the step of writing to 
Lucy this evening on the subject of William's Sonnets. I 
have written to him also a short propitiatory note. 

You will be glad to hear that Leyland, who starts this 
evening for Venice, came in last night, and bought the 
Beatrice I am painting, for a good price — an event which 
quite sets me on my legs for some time to come. I can now 
wait for what may turn up further, without the least anxiety. 
He has paid me a good sum on account before starting. 

C 153. 

14 April 1881. 

My dear William, 

Thanks for so cordial and brotherly an answer to 
what I hoped you would admit as a brotherly appeal. Will 
you pardon my adding that I addressed the fuller remon- 
strance to Lucy, in spite of seeing objections to such a 
course, just because I foresaw the difficulty of awaking you 
to a sense of any grave danger, not to yourself only, but to 
those you love? 

I cannot say that I see force in your arguments. The 
country — true — is democratic in great measure, as well as 



monarchical ; but one of the democratic allies you cite — the 
chief one and Prime Minister — is now under a threat of 
murder from the very class whom some of your sonnets 

I cannot discern that your present course, in making a 
personal, forcible, and extreme profession of democracy in 
our own time, even to assassination, has any affinity to casual 
references to Charles the First, or other similar questions, 
occurring in books the object of which was quite other than 
their utterance. 

One of the friends I referred to is himself as strong a 
democrat as you are, except as regards the murder-point ; 
and he sees the danger you are rushing on to be great. 

No doubt no one thought it worth while to tackle such 
slight matters as the allusions in your former writings ; but 
I have the strongest foreboding that it is very possible 
(though of course not certain) that your expressing promi- 
nently these extreme views may lead to your being deprived 
of the means for providing for your family. Members of 
Parliament may speak as they please ; but, even if their 
constituencies should unseat them, their families have still 
the same dinner and the same education. I fully honour 
your indifference to personal risk of discomfort or aggression, 
but should be surprised if you were indifferent to this question 
also. You can exert no such influence by the expression 
of political views as would in the least balance such a cata- 

I have said my say, which I felt to be my duty. I have 
no intention to " nag " on the subject when we meet again, 
but shall be glad to discuss it in any way which you may 
think fit to lead up to, and should wish decidedly to hear 
the further portions of the series. By the bye, the fine 
sonnet on Orsini I consider admissible in any case, and this 
might suffice in my opinion to represent the whole question 
by its highest example. Of course, much as I should prize 
the dedication to me of a work of yours, I think now that I 
will ask you for some other than this one. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 88 1. 379 

B 112. 

"William's family has signalized itself." This refers to a birth 
of twins on 2 2 April; Mary, who continues to brighten my small 
household, and Michael, who died in January 1883. 

26 April [1881]. 

My dearest Mother, 

I must not and do not forget the dear date of to- 
morrow. Near upon it William's family has signalized itself 
— I hope, hopefully. My effort was made as strongly as 
I could put it regarding the projected book ; but I can trace 
no results either in his mind or his wife's. He answered 
me. I feel, however, more at ease on the point ; and do 
think that Lucy must, in spite of appearances, be sufficiently 
aroused to prevent William from running any real risk. 
* * # * « * 

I am sending to Liverpool, by request of the Town Council, 
a photograph of the large picture — which (though not satis- 
factory, as photographs seldom are) gives, to my judgment, 
an impression of a good picture. I have told them that I 
could re-touch an impression so as to give a complete idea 
of the work ; but that, as this would take time and trouble, 
I should need to understand that the Chairman thought the 
prospect of sale very promising before I did so. I like the 
Chairman, who came here, and am sure that he and others 
are well-disposed. 

I am getting on with my volume in press, which must 
soon be ready. 

With truest love, 

Your affectionate 


C 154. 

" The Ricciardi draft " was a letter in Italian which I had written 
for my brother's use, to answer a request on a literary subject 
made to him by our old family-friend Conte Giuseppe Ricciardi : 
my brother fancying (for it was perhaps only a fancy) that he 



would be more rusty than myself in the use of the Italian language 
Miss Asher was at this time his housekeeper at Cheyne Walk. 

Tuesday [17 May 1881]. 

Many thanks for the Ricciardi draft, which I am 
about copying. 

Some weeks ago I got your consent to look through the 
proofs of my book. I hope it would not be more onerous 
now than then ; but Watts thinks I ought on no account 
to neglect your kind offer, as he says you are sure to find 
something amiss. Accordingly I shall send Miss Asher 
to your office to-morrow with the sheaf of proofs. They 
are not mostly final proofs, and the points which you will 
see marked by me have all since been rectified. 

Could you in some way mark further emendations as 
clearly yours ? I don't know if you ever use red ink or a 
red wax-chalk pencil. 

Your affectionate 

D. G. R. 

No doubt you would show the proofs to no one but Lucy 

at present. 

C 155- 

This note refers to the proofs of my brother's volume Ballads 
and Sonnets, then passing through the press. 

Wednesday [18 May 1881]. 

My DEAR William, 

Many thanks. I should not dream of being impatient ; 
but, if I find it impossible for you to get it done in a short 
time, I must find out whether the book can wait. My own 
impression is that there are no errors left. You have found 
none, though I think the smoothing of that " crouch close " 
etc. advantageous, if not too late for press. ..." Wading 
moon " I think a just and fine expression, 

I am writing to Ellis to ask how the book stands as to 

FAMILY-LETTERS — I 88 1. 38 1 

C 156. 

The references here apply (as perhaps the reader will perceive 
without my assistance) to the poem of The King's Tragedy. 

i [20 May 1881.] 

My dear William, 

I read all your notes with interest, and some with 

advantage. Thanks. As to the lion, it is the blazon of 

Scotland, and C[atherine] D[ouglas] must have had a clear 

idea of it. . . . As to " stamp," it merely means putting the 

foot down hard, which a lion might well do. However, I 

shall use " ramp," as you suggest, because it clears away 


* * * * # * 


D. G. R. 

Love to Lucy. 

As to CJiristmas, the Chronicle states distinctly that the 
King went to hold a solemn feast in Perth at that season, 
and that he afterwards stayed on for rejoicing till the date 
of the murder. The word Carnival is not used, nor do I 
know whether it was then in use. All is indicated in the 

poem as in the Chronicle. 

*- * * * * * 

B 113. 

" Christina's book," which Mr. Hall Caine was about to review 
in The Academy, is the one entitled A Pagea^it and Other Poems. 
About the " Italian journal " I cannot now speak definitely. I 
understand it to have contained an article on Gabriel and Christina ; 
and Gabriel raises a comparison between this article and the 
translations made by the courteous and accomplished Italian, Signer 
Gamberale. His volume is named Poeii Inglesi e Tedeschi (1881), 
and contains translations from both Gabriel and Christina. Per- 
haps the prose article also was Gamberale's own. 

3 Augi(st 1881. 

My dearest Mother, 

What a good dear loving and full letter you have 
written to me ! Till I opened it I took the outside for 


Christina's writing, so firm it is, nor is the inside much less 
so. It shames this caHgraphy of mine, which is but so-so. 

* * * * # * • 

Dunn has been away since New Year's Day, and I am 
now parting with him altogether. . . . You may have heard 
of a young man named Hall Caine, who has shown himself 
very well disposed towards me. I am going to try the 
experiment of having him to live in the house, and so shall 
have more society. . . . Caine has tastes similar to my 
own, and is a reading man. He follows literature. He is 
likely to be coming here by next Saturday. He is going to 
do Christina's book for The Academy. 

Thanks for return of the Italian journal. I think that 
article decidedly superior to anything in Gamberale's volume. 
Italian poetry suffers so much, in comparison with English, 
from amplification. In his Gentl (short, I presume, for 
Gentile) there are nearly 200 lines more than in my Jenny. 
I gave him my views as to how much this lessened emphasis. 
But I think Christina's things better done. 

C 157- 

If the following letter is read by any person expert in Shelleian 
matters, he will understand the allusion to Hogg and " the Werther 
MS. " : it would perhaps be superfluous for me to enter into it here. 

Mr. Brown's "big house" was No. 37 Fitzroy Square, London: 
his removal to Manchester had made it requisite for him to dispose 
of the outstanding lease of the London house. 

" The Liverpool purchase " — i.e., the proposed purchase of my 
brother's large picture of Daniels Dream for the Walker Art Gallery 
in Liverpool — did not " collapse " ; it soon afterwards became an 
accomplished fact. 

Wednesday [3 August 1881]. 

My dear William, 

I never answered your note, but shall be very glad to 
see you again on the 1 5th. 

I read Hogg's Shelley with great enjoyment, but could 

FAMILY-LETTERS— 1 88 1. " 383 

nowhere find any hint to lead up to your statement as to the 
Werther MS. Who is it that has brought such facts forward 
as you mentioned ? They would very likely have been made 
[known] to the family, and caused the withdrawal of material. 
I can see nothing of the kind in your Life of Shelley. 

1 hope you have all thriven, and are thriving — Lucy 
foremost. My love to her. I am very glad to hear that 
Brown is so likely to get his big house off his hands. 

You will be sorry to learn that the Liverpool purchase has 
collapsed. Their views and mine did not finally agree. 
However, things look likely enough in other quarters, and I 
will not repine. 

Your affectionate 

D. G. R. 

P.S. — One Gamberale, who translated my Last Confession 
poem, has made a book of translations containing some of 
Christina's and mine, and sent a copy for each of the family — ■ 
one for you which I have. He yearns to possess your Lives 
of Poets and Mrs. Holmes Grey. Where he heard of the 
latter I can't guess. 

F 14. 

The passage here about "Commonplace Cook " may need a word 
of explanation. Signer Luigi Gamberale had (as shown in the last 
preceding letter) sent my brother his volume of Italian translations, 
including a reference to Christina, who was stated to be author of 
{inter alia) a volume named Commonplace Cook. The real name 
of that volume is Commonplace, and Other Stories. — Many of my 
brother's letters refer to projects of getting some house as a sub- 
stitute for the one in Cheyne Walk; towards 1881 he thought 
all the more about this, as the great majority of his large garden 
was taken away from him for building purposes ; the so-called 
" Rossetti Mansions " now occupy its site. The picture with mag- 
nolias was never finished by Rossetti. It was a Lady of Pity, or 
Donna delta Pifiestra ( Vita Niiova). Mr. Madox Brown ultimately 
completed it, and it was sold by Messrs. Foster in July 1894, as 


forming part of my wife's estate ; for I had presented to her all 
the unfinished works by my brother which remained in my hands 
after his death. 

Saturday [6 August 1881]. 

My dear Christina, 

Thanks for your sisterly missives. It makes life less 
bleak as it advances to find the old care and love still prompt 
to hand. I do hope we may be able to arrange another stay 
here like the one last April which gave me so much pleasure. 
You will not, I am sure, think that it implies indifference 
when I say that I have put off to a less harassed moment the 
full acquaintance with your Pageant volume. The Pageant 
itself seems to me full of beauties, and well adapted to be 
taken up by children for private acting — a paying qualifica- 
tion. . . . Watts is sure to do you justice. I have finally 
resolved on dedicating my book to him, as I found (quite 
unexpectedly) that he had done me the honour to set his 
heart rather on my doing so. 

* * * * * * 

What Gamberale could mean by " Commonplace Cook " 
was a puzzle indeed. The mind revolving round it, I judged 
it possible that some professed English adept, seeing the title 
put correctly in his MS., may have told him that it ought 
evidently to read Commonplace book, this being a current 
English phrase, and he evidently not possessing the volume. 
The c for b might be his error or the printer's. But this is 
all mere mental drama. . . . He has now corrected (on my 
showing) many errors in Last Confession, but there are 
many in Jenny which I may or may not be at pains to point 

I think the little house you mention seems very attractive ; 
and the rent just suits me, as well as the date you name, for 
I don't expect in any case to get away earlier. 

Caine is at this moment in Liverpool, but will be here in a 
day or two, if not sooner. The Liverpool Committee are still 
yearning after the picture, but I cannot feel sure to what 
extent certainty of purchase is intended, and till that is 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 88 1. 385 

quite ensured the picture budges not. I am painting into a 
new picture some beautiful magnolias sent by Lady Mount- 

Sir Noel Paton (always a generous friend to my work) was 
here lately and most enthusiastic about the large picture. 
He and Lady P[aton] with one of their sons had a few 
months ago a most narrow escape from drowning. They 
had gone in a small sailing-boat to a Highland loch to visit 
the grave of a lost child on the further shore. In returning, 
the boat was upset, and they all had to swim a long dis- 
tance (with sadly failing strength) before, with the greatest 
difficulty, they struggled to the beach, and instantly all 
fainted away, being so found and conveyed to a fisherman's 

With dearest love to our Mother and affection all round, 
I am 

Your loving Brother, 


B 114. 

Sunday [4 September 1881J. 

My dearest Mother, 

* You will be glad to know that the purchase at 
Liverpool is after all complete. The picture was bought by 
the Town Council yesterday for 1,500 guineas, on the private- 
view day of their Exhibition. This I knew (between our- 
selves) would happen, or I should not have sent it. But they 
have no power to buy except from the Exhibition, so I was 
necessitated to send it first. This will also cause my not 
getting paid till the receipts of the Exhibition are realized in 
November, but then the money will come. The picture 
hangs " starred " in the gallery as sold. I know you rejoice 
in my welfare, so hasten to tell you of this stroke of good 


* * -* * * « 

I wish C[hristina] would write me a line in answer to this 
{iiot taxing yourself), and say how she liked Caine's little 
VOL. IL 25 


notice in The Academy. I thought it good and feeling. I 
find him good company. He is now gone to Liverpool for 
a day or two (returning to-morrow afternoon), which he did 
to see that there was no hitch at the gallery. 

* * * • * * * 

I think her Pageant most lovely, as does Watts also, and 
we are both deeply impressed by the beauty of the Monna 
Innominata series. I think the Ballad of Boding grimmish 
on the whole ; and BeJiold, a Shaking, may chance to keep 
youngsters awake. She had a poem in her first volume very 
like the Boding, but simpler. 

My dear Christina, 


Wednesday [7 September 1881]. 

The poem I meant is Sleep at Sea ; and I must say 
the essential motif seems to me one with that of the Ballad 
of Boding, though of course each has its varied beauties. 

You may like to hear that Swinburne's delight with the 
Pageant amounted to . . . ecstasy. 

* * 

B 115. 

Thursday [15 September 1881]. 

My dearest Mother, 


I wish you would read in my book the three Sonnets 
called True Woman, as I am sure you would like these. They 
are written quite lately. 

The sight of you yesterday was very dear to me, and I will 
not hide from you how painfully conscious I am of the many 
neglected opportunities of seeing you. But I have lately 
been much more than usually out of sorts, and will hope, if 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 88 1. 387 

I return from the country somewhat improved, to see you 
more frequently, and also to get you and Christina to stay 
here again. I will write to you as soon as I am settled. 

C 158. 

The only interest of this scrap is to mark the date when my 
brother left London for a holiday in the Vale of St. John, near 
Keswick, Cumberland. He soon fell ill there — more, I think, 
through misuse of chloral than any other cause — and was never 
quite himself again afterwards. 

[16 Cheyne Walk.] 
Sunday [18 September 1881]. 

My dear William, 

I need not be troubling you for a visit to-morrow 
(Monday), as I am likely to be off to the country. I will 
write when there. 

With love to Lucy, 

Your affectionate 

D. G. R. 

B 116. 

Fisher Place, Fisher Ghyll, 
Vale of St. John, near Keswick. 

[22 September 1881.] 

My dearest Mother, 

We reached here very comfortably yesterday morning, 
and are housed in the most comfortable quarters possible. 
The house, which is an infinitely better one than that at 
Heme Bay, only costs the same rent — £2 \os. It is so 
clean as to seem as if no one had ever inhabited it before, and 
the beds and attendance are most excellent. The fare also is 
unexceptionable. I am already beginning to feel the benefit 
of country walks, though as yet under rain. This, however, 
does not keep me in. 

The scenery is grand in the extreme — mountains rising on 
all hands — though the rain has as yet prevented my entering 
on any explorations. I have said several times to Caine how 


much you would enjoy this place. The quiet is more 
absolute than I have ever met with elsewhere. 

The Ghyll (a waterfall) at the back of our house falls 
within sight between 500 and 600 feet, though several thou- 
sand feet in reality. The rains now will soon swell it, though 
it was but a thread when we arrived. 

Christina will be interested to hear that, as I was leaning 
over a bridge to-day, an old snail came up out of his shell 
and submitted to be stroked, after which he retired. 

I cannot do better for your maternal delectation than 
enclose a letter from a friend who quotes one from my 
generous old friend Sir Noel Paton, relating to my Liverpool 
picture. When writing, he did not know my reason for 
sending it thither — viz. : the purchase. 

With love to all, 

Your most affectionate 


C 159. 

[Vale of St. John, Keswick.] 
Thursday [22 September 1881]. 

My dear William, 

I find I have left behind a book which Caine much 
needs for his index of sonnet-forms, — viz., Rime di Fra 
Guitto7ie d'Areszo in two paper-bound octavo vols. I fancy 
it is on the shelf near the sofa in studio, or on the sofa itself, 
or in some promiscuous position. It seems really too bad 
to bore you, but there is no one else at all I can ask. Could 
you go down as soon as at all convenient, and forward the 
vols. ? Address 

Fisher Place 

Fisher Ghyll 

Vale of St. John 

Near Keswick. 

Landscape-letters are things to me impos.sible ; but I 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 88 1. 389 

dare say you know this country, which is very beautiful and 
an absolute solitude. 
With love to Lucy, 

Your affectionate 


You would add greatly to the obligation if you could 
send Cino da Pistoia — Ciampi's edition. The book is I 
believe among a sadly dismembered set which are discover- 
able in the cupboard on the floor, underneath the china-closet 
in the dining-room which was once the receptacle of your 

B 117. 

Fisher Place, Vale of St. John, Keswick. 

[29 September 1881.] 

My dearest Mother, 

I write a line merely to say how I am getting on. I 
cannot say that at present I feel very well, but I hope for 
improvement. The surroundings are most beautiful, and 
the house very comfortable, with obliging people. You will be 
glad to hear that I am making an effort to reduce the drug. 

One day (but perhaps I told you this before) I climbed 
the Great Hough, which is a mountain 1,200 feet high. I 
am painting a little picture here — a replica of my Proserpine 
— which is one of those I have to do for Mr. Valpy in 
exchange for his return of the large picture. Certainly I 
have the best of that bargain, but he pleased himself. 

It seems my book is out, or at any rate in the hands of 
the reviewers. 1 trust Watts's article may be out next 

Caine is making a most interesting Sonnet-book, which 
I am sure will afford you much pleasant reading. I was so 
glad you liked those three Sonnets, and should rejoice to hear 
of anything else that has pleased you. 

With love to all, 

Your affectionate 



B Ii8. 

Fisher Place, Vale of St. John, Keswick. 

[lo October 1881.] 

My dearest Mother, 

I wish this letter could be a longer one, but I am 
not very well, and there is no news of any kind except that 
my book is out There is a fine critique by Watts in 
AthencBum. All you said gave me great pleasure, and your 
letter was absolutely firm throughout — the best I have long 

I have sought for loneliness, but here the solitude and 
silence are absolute — a magic spell. Still, Caine is good 
company, and I expect Watts for a few days ; but I think I 
shall return at end of week, as I cannot perceive that I am 
benefiting as I ought to do. 

I have done a little work here in carrying on a replica 
I brought from London. I have very gratifying accounts 
on all sides of the Liverpool matter. I regret to say I have 
climbed no more hills, but contented myself with level 

Caine is excessively attentive and friendly, and is really 
quite an abnegator of self He went the other day and 
delivered a lecture at Liverpool (on Richardson) with im- 
mense success. It is one of a series of twelve on English 

With love to all, 

Your most affectionate 

D. Gabriel R. 

C 160. 

Fisher Place, Vale of St. John, Keswick. 

[10 October 1881.] 

My dear William, 

I had a few copies of my book sent here, and have 
exhausted them in necessary quarters, and now at last 
remember that I have actually not sent one to you and Lucy. 
I must tell Ellis to send one, and inscribe it when I see you 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 882. 391 

again. I hope all goes well with both. I cannot say my 
visit here has been a success. I don't think the air agrees 
with me. I doubt not I shall be returning by the end of the 
week. I will have a second copy sent you for Brown. 

B 119. 

16 Cheyne Walk. 

10 November [1881]. 

My dearest Mother, 

I am sending you a copy of the re-printed Poems. 
Twelve hundred of the Ballads and Sonnets are already sold — 
this is a great success. The picture at Liverpool seems to be 
equally successful. 

I will not write much, as I am not well — though my 
writing will show you that I am somewhat improved. I hear 
of you favourably from William. 

B 120. 

Tuesday [31 Janiiary 1882]. 

My dearest Mother, 

I send you . . . two books. One of them is Caine's 
Sonnet-volume. I will inscribe it some time that I am with 
you, but it seemed a pity to undo it. 

There is a not very civil article on me in Macmillan ; also 
one on me and Christina in Atlantic Monthly — C[hristina] 
pronounced the original bard. 

Your loving 


I may probably be going to the neighbourhood of Margate, 
where a friend offers to lend me a commodious house. It has 
really struck me whether you and C[hristina] could come, 
as there is lots of room. Think about it, but no need to 


F i6. 

[i6 Cheyne Walk. 
Friday 3 Febncary 1882.] 

My dear Christina, 

Thanks for your letter received to-day. The previous 
one contained a sore disappointment for me ; as I had really 
hoped that Mamma and you would go with us to Birchington. 
As it is, we go to-morrow, Caine's little sister has joined us, 
and is a very nice attractive little girl. 

I cannot form any decided idea of how long I shall stay at 
the seaside. It will much depend on whether I can get to 
work to even moderate advantage. 
With love to our Mother, 

Your affectionate 


F 17. 

The " French notice " here spoken of was an article written by 
Mr. Joseph Knight upon my brother's Ballads and Sonnets, and 
published in Le Livre. The long letter named directly afterwards 
came from M. Ernest Chesneau ; who, in preparation for his 
valuable book La PeinUire Anglaise, was seeking from my brother, 
and also from Mr. Madox Brown, numerous details of information 
regarding their works and the Prgeraphaelite movement in general. 

West Cliff Bungalow, Birchington-on-Sea. 

[February 1882.] 

My dear Christina, 

I wish I could report any change as to my health and 
Strength. Need I say that at any moment Mamma and you 
will be more than welcome ? The weather here is fine and 
quite free from fog, but cold. 

There is a large garden belonging to the house, which is in 
all respects commodious. The journey by 3-15 train is very 
easy — 2 hours to Westgate, and a quarter' of an hour by 
chaise to come on here. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 882. 393 

Thanks for the French notice, which is a good one enough. 
I will send it back soon. At same time I got a long French 
letter, which I enclose in case Mamma might care to read it. 
I don't much see my way to do as asked. 
With best love to both, 

Your Brother, 


I cannot myself doubt that Mamma would benefit here. 
Caine could meet you. 

C 161. 

Here follows the last letter which my brother ever wrote me. 
" The desired sketch " was to have been a sketch of our Father, 
giving his characteristic daily aspect : it was wanted with a view to 
the monument to him commissioned by the authorities of Vasto, 
and the request had been conveyed to me by our cousin Teodorico 
Pietrocola-Rossetti, and by me to my brother. Although Gabriel 
did not feel equal to undertaking this work in a definite way, he did 
after a while make two or three slight sketches, which I found at 
Birchington after his death : mournful and precious reminiscences, 
though too unimportant to be of practical service. " The portrait " 
to which his P.S. refers is the oil-painting that he finished (as 
heretofore noticed) in 1848 — a life-sized head-and-shoulders likeness 
of our Father. " The photos " are photographs taken several years 
ago from that same portrait. 

" The Stillman report " was a newspaper report — happily baseless 
— of the assassination of our friend Mr. Stillman in Turkish territory. 


17 February 1882.] 

Dear William, 

I am sorry to say that in my state I could not make 
the desired sketch. This is a real grief to me, and I wish 
you would explain that it is impossible. I cannot be writing 
myself. My state is lately decidedly worse. 

I hear now that our Mother and Sister will not be able to 


come. I was obliged to put them off once, owing in reality 
to my bad state. 

I heard of the Stillman report and its contradiction. 

Your affectionate 

D. G. R. 

The portrait could be sent — the photos are bad ; only it 
might be as well not to lose the portrait. 

F i8. 

Mo7iday [20 February 1882]. 

My dear Christina, 

It is fearfully cold to-day here, and I don't know what 
to say as to possible visits. Sometimes we have most 
brilliant weather, but frequent storms of wind and rain. 

I am sending you a Saturday Review, which please return. 

The rather ill-natured notice of Caine's book, contains a rather 

good-natured word on yourself. I think there is every reason 

to suppose the article written by Mr. , whose own Sonnet 

strikes him as particularly good. He will find himself 

exceptionally so stricken. 

* «- * * * # 

F 19. 

The phrase " I have done a little painting " relates to the 
duplicates, both for Mr. Valpy, of the Proserpine and oijoan of Arc. 

[West Cliff Bungalow, Birchington-on-Sea. 

received orj February 1882.] 

My dear Christina, 

There is a general impression here that the weather is 
fine enoueh for Mamma to venture down if she likes. I do 
not press it, but leave it entirely to her judgment. When I 
expected her before, I sent for a chair which is the twin of 
the one she sits in at home, and which is here still. 

FAMILY-LETTERS — 1 882. 395 

I have no particular news. I tried galvanism, but just at 
that time my arm seemed to get worse, so I gave it up again. 

I have done a little painting, but, for want of sufficient to 
work on, have been reduced to reading Miss Braddon — who, 
however, has risen in my estimation. 

There are two articles on Caine's book to-day in Athenceum 
and Academy, by Watts and Dowden. Both mention you — 
the latter very flatteringly. 

F 20. 

[West Cliff Bungalow, Birchington-on-Sea. 

Tuesday 28 February 1882.] 

My dear Christina, 

I will fully expect both of you on Thursday. No 
doubt you got telegram. 

My state is faint and feeble to a degree ; full of pains, and 
unable to walk to any purpose. But, as you must find this 
out some time, why not now ? 

The weather here might be called, I suppose, fairly mild 
at ordinary times ; though since I wrote we had an intolerable 
noise of wind day and night. It is quieter now. 

Your affectionate 

D. G. R. 


A. (schoolboy), i., 70. 
Abbotsford, i., T]. 
Abeille, Monsieur, i., 69. 
Aberdare, Lord (H. A. Bruce), i., 

192, 275 ; ii., 221. 
Abrey, Mrs., i., 387-94-7-8-9. 
Abruzzo Citeriore, i., 4, 12. 
Academy, The (journal), i., 174, 300, 

320; ii., 228, 3 1 4-8 1 -2-6-9 5. 
Achilli, Dr., i., 53. 
Acland, Dr., i., 185 ; ii., 142-3. 
Ada the Betrayed, L, 82. 
Addison, Joseph, i., 358. 
Adelaide Gallery, i., 39. 
Adelphi Theatre, i., 97. 
Agnew, Messrs., i., 413 ; ii., 274, 

Aguilar, E., ii., 355. 
Aikin's Year, ii., 96, 118. 
Aikman, i., 68. 
Akenside, i,, 358. 
Albany, Countess of, i., 25, 26. 
Albany St., Regent's Park, i., 10, 

32, 72, 209-26-7-8; ii., 137-59. 

Albera, i., 51. 
Albert (servant), i., 344. 
Alboni, ii., 43. 
Alcock (Bristol), ii., 360. 
Alcock, Rev. Mr., i., 394-7, 401-3. 

Aldwick Lodge, Bognor, i., 337-8, 

345-8-63; ii., 319. 
Alexander, Francesca, i., 35. 
Alexander III. of Scotland, i., 374. 
Alfieri, Count, i., 25, 26, 27. 
Algiers, ii., 352. 
All Saints' Home, i., 346 ; ii., 295-9, 

All Souls' Church, London, i., 3. 

Allan (servant), ii., 234-51. 
Alhngham, William, i., 115-94, 215, 

229, 418; ii., 87, 1 20- 5-7-8-3 1 -9, 

Day and Night Songs, by, 

ii-, 139- 
Allsop, i., 73. 
Amiens, ii., 58. 
Ampleforth College, i., 32. 
Anderson, Rev. Charles, i., jy. 
Anderson, J. C, ii., 312. 
Anelli, Fujj' Ammesche, by, i., 11. 
Angelico, Fra, ii., 62. 
Angeloni, i., 47. 
Angiolieri, Cecco, ii., 291. 
Anthony, Mark, i., 166; ii., 231-2. 
Antinous, i., 245; ii., 17. 
Antwerp, ii., 7J, 80. 
Apocalypse, The, i., 57. 
Arabian Nights, translations by 

Galland and by Lane, i., 60, 86, 

392 ; ii., 247. 




Arcadi, Academy of the, i. 7, 28. 
Architectural Museum, i., 186. 
Ariosto, i., 62, 83. 
ArHngton St., Mornington Crescent, 

i., 23, 170; ii., 107. 
Armellini, i., 215 ; ii., 161. 
Armitage, Edward, ii., 13. 
Arrow, EHzabeth (Jerdan), i., 30. 
Arrow, James, i., 30. 
Arrow {see Pierce). 
Art and Poetry (magazine), i., 153. 
Art Union, or Art Journal, The, 

i., 112-46-53, 232-41 ; ii., 46, 48. 
Artist, The (magazine), ii., 103-4. 
Arundel, ii., 134. 
Arundel Club, i., 256. 
Ashburton, Lady, ii., 281, 316. 
Ashburton, Lord, ii., 136-7. 
Asher, Miss, ii., 380. 
Asmar, Maria Theresa, i., 51. 

Metnoirs, by, i., 51. 

Aspa, i., 49. 

Astley's Circus, i. 39; ii., 29. 

AthencEum, The, i., 111-46-7-61-8, 

246-98, 368; ii., 48, 129-70-82-3, 

227-36-41-50-92-6, 309-15-6-52, 

Atlantic Monthly, The, ii., 391. 

Augustine, Coiifessions of St., i., 418. 

Austin, Bishop, i., 30. 

Austin, Governor, i., 30. 

Australia, i., 163-90; ii., 49, 83, 95, 


Austria, Emperor of, ii., 33. 

Aylott & Jones, i., 150; ii., 49, 50, 

Aytoun, Firmilian, by, ii., 128. 
Azeglio, Marquis d', i., 263. 

Babington, Dr., i., 212. 
Bader, Dr., i., 265 ; ii., 198. 
Bailey, Philip James, i., 355. 

Festtis, by, i., 89. 

Baily, E. H., i., 170. 

Baker (servant), ii., 172-6. 

Baker Street, London, ii., 270. 

Baltimore, i., 76. 

Balzac, i., 419-20. 

Barbe, Lechertier, ii., 174, 

Barberino, Francesco da, i., 421. 

Barcelona, i., 351. 

Bargello, Florence, i., 65 ; ii., 229, 

Baring, Miss (junior), ii., 316. 

Baring, Miss (senior), ii., 149-50. 

Barlass, ii., 372. 

Barthelemy, LArt de Fumer, by, 

ii., 32. 
Bartholomew, Mrs., i., 88. 
Bartholomew, Valentine, i., 88. 
Baruccabd, i., 40. 
Bastille, Place de la, Paris, ii., 67. 
Bateman, Edward, ii., 95, 118, 
Bates, E., ii., 362-3. 
Bath, i., 200-83, 370, 
Bath House, London, ii., 281. 
Bath, Marchioness Dowager of, i., 

148; ii., 32, 46, 91, 1 10-4-5, 134 to 

137, 145-8.9-50-9-74-5-85. 
Battersea Park, i., 229, 332. 
Battle of Prague (music), i., 40. 
Baudelaire, ii., 178. 
Bayswater, ii., 371. 
Beaconsfield, Lord, i., 368 ; ii., 371. 
Beautes de V Opera (book), ii., 24. 
Beauty and the Beast, i., 61. 
Beaux Arts, Ecole des, ii., 62. 
Behnes, i., 131. 

Belfast, i., 160; ii., 86, 100-5-22. 
Belgium, i., 158, 207-39 ; ii., 49, 55, 

74. 76, 77, 81, 105-7-11. 
Bell & Co., i., 343- 
Bell& Daldy, ii., 315. 
Belle Assemblee, i., iii. 
Bellini, ii., 196. 

Bennan's Cave, Ayrshire, i., 271. 
Benthall, ii., 134-5. 
Bergheim, i., 255.- 
Berkshire, i., 30, 323. 
Berri, Due de, i., 8. 



Bertall, ii., 29. 

Beyer, Mrs., i., 239-41. 

Bibhy The, i., 57, 70. 

Bible History Illustrations, i., 62. 

Bientina, i., 25. 

Biographic (^Nouvelle) Generale, ii., 

Biographic Universelle, ii., 284. 
Birch, Dr., The Infidel's Doom, by, 

ii., 6. 
Birchington-on-Sea, i., 356, 388 to 

392, 394 to 397 ; ii., 170, 392. 
Birchington Church, i., 402-3. 
Birkenhead, i., 247. 
Birmingham, ii., 91, 302-55-6. 
Birmingham Art-Gallery, i., 240, 

363; ii., 174. 
Birrell, Mrs., i., 221-3. 
Blackwood, Messrs., i., 275. 
Blackwood's Magazine, i., 290-1 ; 

ii., 128. 
Blake, Catharine, ii., 359. 
Blake, William, i., 20, 75, loo, 281, 

305, 415; ii., 300-22-59. 
Auguries of Innocettce, by, ii., 

Edition of, by R. H. Shepherd, 

ii., 314. 
Edward I. and William 

Wallace, by, ii., 276-7. 

— MS. Book by, i., 109-10. 

— My Spectre {jpoem), by, i., 251. 
Soitgs of Innocence and Ex- 

perience, by, i., log. 
Blanc-Misseron, ii., 76. 
Blind, Miss, ii., 239. 
Bliss, Mr., ii., 49, 50. 
Bloomsbury .Square, ii., 313-26. 
Bloomsbury Street, i., 88. 
Bluebeard, i., 61 ; ii., 28. 
Blumenthal & Co., ii., 194-5-6. 
Boccaccio, i., 202, 364. 

■ De Naturd Deorimi, by, i., 62. 

Epistle to Pino de' Rossi, by, 

ii., 340. 

Boddington, i., 117. 

Bodichon, Mrs., i., 194, 286; ii., 119, 

1 20-6-8-9-3 1-6-9, 225. 
Bodleian Library, ii., 142. 
Bognor, i., 337-8. 
Bolland, Justice, i., 20. 
Bonaparte, King Joseph, i., 7. 
Bonaparte, Prince Pierre, i., 7. 
Bonaparte, Princess Charlotte, i., 7. 
Bond St. (New), i., 275, 400 ; ii., 49. 
Bordone, Paris, ii., 281. 
Boswell's Johnson, i., 102. 
Botticelli, i., 264; ii., 365. 

Nativity, by, ii., 196. 

Portrait by, i., 264. 

Boulogne, i., 98, 206, 338 ; ii., 19, 20, 

22, 23, 24, 30, 59, 155-6-8, 224. 
Bourbon, Constable de, ii., 21. 
Bournemouth, ii., 320. 
Bowen, Lord, i., 196. 
Bower, Mr., i., 372. 
Bowman, Sir William, i., 265 ; ii., 

Boxall, ii., 9. 
Boyce, G. P., i., 194, 204-12-27-42-7, 

329-61, 401 ; ii., 152-3. 
Boyd, Miss, i., 266-7-8-70-2-9, 336, 

348-78 ; ii., 196-7-8, 224, 355-64. 
Boyle, Hon. Mrs., i., 166 ; ii., 197. 
Boys, i., ^^. 
Braddon, Miss, Dead Meat's Shoes, 

by, i., 392; ii., 395. 
Bradford, i., 247, 401 ; ii., 254. 
Brandard, i., 187. 
Brass, Mr., ii., 253. 
Brasseur, Professor, i., 73. 
Bray, Eliza Anna, i., 30. 
- — ■ Autobiography, by, i., 30. 
Brett, John, i., 200-13. 
Bridewell Hospital, i., 223. 
Bridge St., Blackfriars, i., 223. 
Bridges, John, i., 187. 
Brigand Tales, i., 82. 
Brighton, i., 51, 247 ; ii., 39, 40, 82. 
Brisach, i., 25. 



Bristol Channel, ii., 141. 
British Institution, ii., 84, 210. 
British Museum, i., 71, 78, 84, 85, 

105-9-15, 251-86; ii., 51, 312-71. 
British Quarterly, The, i., 306 ; ii., 

Brittany, ii., 54, 55, 80. 
Broad St., Golden Sq., i., 20. 
Broadie, ii., 61, 67, 80, 81. 
Broadlands, Hants, i., 338-9-63 ; ii., 


Broadway, The (magazine), ii., 49. 

Broadwood, Messrs., i., 49. 

Brodie, Sir William, i., 42. 

Brom.pton Cemetery, i., 346 ; ii., 339. 

Bronte, Charlotte, ii., 49. 

Brough, Robert, i., 195. 

Brown (family), i., 30. 

Brown, Ford Madox,i., 93, 11 5-6-8-9, 
123-5 -9-30-42-5-51-3-60-6-8-70-3, 
175-7-9-81-4-90-4-5-8, 200-1-4-6, 
207-9-12-3-7-8-20- 1-2-4-5-8-33, 
243-55, 305-10-1-4-6-7-20-3-9-33, 
335-6, 340 to 345, 352-61-3, 400-2, 
427; ii., 34 to 38, 51, 70, 71, 92, 
103-4-18-35-6-57-81-99, 200-3-9, 
220 - 39 -46-50-2-9-68-9-79-8 5-9 1 -2, 
293-8, 301-2-3-5-6-9-10-2-5-6-8-28, 

Adajn and Eve after the Fall, 

by, i., 93. 

Chaucer at Court of Edward 3, 

by, i., 170-8 

Cordelia watching Lear, by, i., 

119-42; ii., 35. 

Cro7nwell on his Farm, b}^ ii., 


Cro?nwell, Protector of the 
Vaudois, by, ii., 282. 

Death of the Giaour, by, i., 9',, 


— Execution of Mary Queen of 
Scots, by, i., 117. 

— Itivention in Art, Lectures by, 

Brown, Ford Madox, fesus washing 

Peters Feet,hY,\., 12,2. 

Justice, by, i., 93, 117. 

Love of Beauty, Sonnet by, i., 


— Manchester Town Hall, Pic- 
tures by, ii., 353. 

— Our Lady of Saturday -night, 

by, i., U7. 

— Parisina, by, i., 93, 117. 

— Portraits, by, ii., 310-1. 

— Rossetti monuments, by, i.,403, 


— Slade Professorship of Art, 
Address, by, ii., 275-6. 

— Study in Majtner of Early 

Masters, by, i., 117. 

— Wiclif and John of Gaunt, by, 

i., 119-45; ii., 35- 

— Wilhelmtis Conquistator, by, 

1-, 93- 

Work (picture), by, ii., 181, 

Brown, John, i., 374. 

Brown, Mrs. F. Madox, i., 172, 211, 

347; ii., 269, 316. 
Brown, Lucy Madox {see Rossetti). 
Brown, Oliver Madox, i., 293, 322-45, 

347-64, 415-6-9-20; ii., 199, 200, 

273, 303-7-8-12-4-5-6-28. 

Black Swan, by, ii., 266. 

Dwale Bluth, etc., by, i., 345 ; 

ii., 321-2. 

Gabriel Denver, by, ii. , 266-99. 

ii., 300. 

Brown, Sarah, i., 45. 

Brown, Catherine {see Hueffer). 

Browne, Hablot K. (Phiz), ii., 9, 24, 

Browning, Miss, i., 190. 
Browning, Mrs., i., 100-90, 433 ; ii., 

177, 323- 
Browning, Robert, i., 102-15-90- 1-4, 

199, 204-85-90, 334-5, 426 ; ii., 68, 

98, 143- 
Balaustions Adventure, by, i., 

418; ii., 241. 



Browning, Robert, Bells and Pome- 
granates, by, i., [02 ; ii., 51. 

Blot 071 Scutcheon, by, i., 102. 

Colombes Birthday, by, ii., 98, 

Fifine at the Fair, by, i , 308, 

In a Gondola, by, ii., 210. 

Laboratory, by, i., 158. 

Lippo Lippi, by, i., 191. 

Paracelsus, by, i., 102-34. 

Pauline, by, i., 115. 

Pippa Passes, by, i., 102-58-75 ; 

ii., 82, 143. 

Ring attd Book, by, ii., 210. 

Sordello, by, i., 102-34-57 ; ii., 

Brucciani, i., 400. 
Bruce [see Aberdare). 
Bruges, ii., ^T. 
Brussels, ii., ^T, 79, 80. 

Museum, ii., 80. 

Brutus, M. Junius, ii., 374. 
Buccleuch, Duke of, i., 77. 
Buchanan, Robert, i., 293-4-5, 297 to 

301, 306-8-38-86; ii., 249-50. 
Fleshly School of Poetry, by, 

i., 293 to 297, 300-1-2-5-6-7-32-71, 

374-7. 423 ; ii., 249. 
■ God and the Man, by, i., 300, 

St. Abe and his Seven Wives, 

by, i., 299. 

Session of the Poets, by, i,, 294. 

Buckingham Street, Strand, i., 229. 
Buckstone, i., 97. 
Btdlder, The, i., 146 ; ii., 48. 
Bulwer (Lord Lytton), i., 103. 

Alice, by, ii., 19. 

Ernest Maltravers, by, ii., 19. 

Last Days of Pompeii, by, i., 82. 

Leila, etc., by, ii., 21. 

Riefizi, by, i., 82, 86. 

Burchett, Richard, i., 121. 
Burden {see Morris). 


Burger's Lenore, i., 85. 

Burkmair, ii., 281-2. 

Burlington Fine Arts Club, i., 121, 

256, 400. 
Burlington Gardens, London, i., 29. 
Burne-Jones, Lady, i., 209. 
Burne-Jones, Sir Edward, i., 195-7, 

201.4-6-9-13-7-9-36-7, 329-47-52, 

361-85-93, 402-7-25-7 ; ii., 147-56, 

158-76, 361. 
Burne-Jones, Philip, ii., 361. 
Burns, Robert, i., 61, 418; ii., 280. 
Burrows, Canon, ii., 1 19-21. 
Burrows {see Martin). 
Burton, J. Hill, ii., 372. 
Butler, Erewhon, by, ii., 310. 
Butler, Samuel, ii., 349. 
Byron, Lady, ii., 219. 
Byron, Lord, i., 32, 33, 34, 81, 85, 100, 

326, 434; ii., 8, 20, 21, 199, 219. 

Childe Harold, by, i., 81. 

Co7'sair, by, i., 81. 

Deformed Transformed., by, ii., 

21, 23, 24. 

Don Juan, by, i., 100; ii., 9. 

Ma?ifred, by, i., 81. 

Mazeppa, by, i., 81. 

Siege of Co7-inth, by, i., 81 ; ii., 

16, 18. 
Vampy7'e, The, by, i., 34. 

Cadogan, Lord, i., 254. 
Cadogan Bridge, i., 229. 
Cahen, Comtesse E. de (Spartali), 

i., 243-57. 
Caine, Miss Lily Hall, i., 22, 253, 

388-91-2-4, 410; ii., 392. 
A Child's Recollections of 

Rossetti, by, i., 22. 
Caine, T. Hall, i., 44, 107-32-5-91, 

225-31-3. 300-6-9-55-6-8-9-60-5, 

369 to 372, 375-6-7-9-82-7-8-91-2, 

394-8-9, 401-6-8-12-4-6-21-32 ; ii., 

381-2-4, 390 to 398. 




Caine, T. Hall, Lectures, by, i., 355 ; 
ii., 352-90. 

Recollectiofts of Dante G. 

Kossetti, by, i., ix., 74, 76-80, 230, 
275. 345- 354 to 357, 367-76-83, 
' 412-6. 

Relation of Politics to Art, by, 

i., 421. 
Sonnets of Three Centuries, 

edited by, i., 416 ; ii., 388-9-91-4-5. 

Cairo, i., 192; ii., 172. 

Calais, i., 118. 

Calame, ii., 29. 

Calfapietra, Baron, i., 48 ; ii., 23, 25. 

Caligula, i., 312. 

Call, Mrs. (Trelawny), ii., 323. 

Cambridge, ii., 268-75. 

Campbell, Major Calder, i., iio-i, 
194 ; ii., 1 00-30- 1. 

Campbell, Thomas, Last Man, by, 
i., 69. 

LochieVs Warning, by, i., 69. 

Canada, i., 355. 

Capper, i., "JT. 

Cardiff, ii., 311. 

Carducci, Giosue, i., 16. 

Carleton's Traits etc. of Irish Pea- 
santry, i., 60. 

Carlisle, ii., 105-6. 

Carlyle, Thomas, i., 114, 226-93. 

French Revolution, by, i., 103. 

Carnot, President, ii., 375. 

Carpaccio, Landing of Catheri7ie 
Cornaro, by, ii., 196. 

Carr, J. Comyns, i., 440, 

Carr, Rev. Swinburne, i., 72. 

History of Greece, by, i., "ji. 

Carrascosa, General, i., 47. 

Carrick, i., 166. 

Carroll {see Dodgson). 

Carthage, ii., 273. 

Cartledge, ii., 147. 

Gary, F. S., i., 88, 89, 91, 92, 96, 97, 

193 ; ii-, 13- 
Gary, Rev. H. F., i., 88. 

Cassell & Co., i., 149. 

Cassius Chserea, ii., 374. 

Catalani, ii., 318-9. 

Cates, ii., 284. 

Catholic World, The, i., 290 ; ii., 

Cavalcanti, Guido, ii., 165. 
Cavour, i., 13. 

Cayley, Professor Arthur, i., 71. 
Cayley, Charles B., i., 71, 195-6; 

ii., 83. 
Translations of Dante, etc., by, 

i., 71; ii., 83, 85, 140. 
Celano, Alfonso, ii., 280. 
Cellini, Benvenuto, i., 75, 421 ; ii,, 

Autobiography, by, ii., 109, 

Centjiry-Guild Hobby-ho7'se, The, 

i-, 246, 332. 
Cerbara, Niccolo, ii., 291. 
Chalfont St. Giles, ii., 5, 7, 8, 10. 
Chalmers, G. Paul, ii., 349. 
Cham, ii., 28, 29. 
Chajnbers's Encyclopcedia, i., 94. 
Chamisso's Peter Schlemihl, i., 100 ; 

ii., 162. 
Chamounix, ii., 134. 
Chandos, Miss, i., 339. 
Chapman, Dr., ii., 250. 
Chapman, George F., i., 256 ; ii., 


A Tiiad, picture by, ii., 185. 

Chappell, William, i., 413. 

Charivari, Le, ii., 80. 

Charles I., ii., 378. 

Charlotte Street, Portland Place, 

i., 3, 18, 19, 36, 37, 64, 1 14-7-8-24, 

169; ii., II, 23. 
Chatham Place, Blackfriars Bridge, 

i., 170-7-85-96, 207-9-10, 221 to 

224, 227, 342, 406-22 ; ii., 86, 104, 

Chatterton, Thomas, i., 358, 415-6; 

ii., 360 



Chaucer, i., 170. 

Cheltenham, ii., 181, 340. 

Cheshunt, ii., 177. 

Chesneau, Ernest, i., 128, 393; ii., 


La Chimere, by, i., 393. 

La Peintiire Anglaise, by, i., 

393 ; ii-. 392- 
Les Nations Rivales dans 

I'Art, by, i., 128. 

Chevalier, G. S. (Gavarni), i., 97, 
98; ii., 24, 28, 31, 70. 

lithographs by, i., 97 ; ii., 25, 

61, 70, 80. 

Chevy Chase (ballad), i., 60. 

Cheyne Walk, i., 169, 227-8-9-33-5, 
236-48-5 1 -62-92, 307- 1 0-1-6-2 1 -6, 
425; ii., 1 70-1-2-87-9-90-9, 203-7, 
276-7-82-4-99, 322-31-41 -3-80-3, 

Children (The) in the Wood, ii., 356. 
China, i., 48, 78. 
Christ Church, Albany St., i., 72, 

220 ; ii., 1 19-21. 
Church Catechism, The, i., 57. 
Ciccotti, Ettore, i., 440. 
Ciciloni, Ferdinando, i., 48. 
Cinderella, i., 61 ; ii., 28. 
Cino da Pistoja, ii., 389, 
City Road, London, ii., 282. 
Clabburn, i., 214; ii., 187-9. 
Clairmont, Clare, i., 33. 
Clarence Gardens, London, ii., 156. 
Clarke, Sir Andrew, i., 396. 
Clayton, J. R., i., 194. 
Clevedon, i., 338 ; ii., 139-41-2. 
Cleveland St., Fitzroy Sq., i., 124, 

134-69, 412. 
Clifton, Bristol, ii., 319. 
Clifton, J. T., i., 121 ; ii., 43. 
Clipstone St., Marylebone, i., 43, 

118; ii., 36. 
Cluny, Hotel de, Paris, ii., 80. 

Cobb, A. B , 1., 388. 
Cockayne, Rev. Mr., i., 72. 
Cole, Mrs., i., 34; ii., 302. 
Coleman, ii., 11 1-3. 
Coleridge, i., 100, 293, 363, 415. 

Genevieve, by, i., 66. 

Collingwood's Life of Ruskin, \., 34, 

Collins, Charles Allston, i., 166, 200; 

ii., 127 to 130. 
Collins, Wilkie, The Dead Secret, 

by, i., 392. 
Collinson, Charles, ii,, 44, 45, 50. 
Collinson, James, i., 121-31-2-4-5-6, 

139-46-94; ii., 41, 44, 45, 48, 50, 

51, 52, 54, 68, 8r, 83. 
Portrait of Ch?'istifia Rossetti, 

by, ii., 46, 47. 
St. Elisabeth of Hungary, by, 

i., 166. 
The Child Jesus, Poem by, ii., 

43, 44- 
Colmar, i., 25. 

Colnaghi, i., 264. 

Cologne, ii., 105. 

Colonna, Vittoria, i., 6 ; ii., 281-3-6. 

Colosseum, Regent's Park, i., 37. 

Colvin, Sidney, i., 278-90-2, 440; ii., 

Combe, Mrs., ii., 86. 
Combe, Thomas, ii., 86, 89. 
Condivi's Life of Michelangelo, ii., 

Connaught, Duke of, i., 163. 
Constantinople, ii., 318. 
Conte?nporary Review, The, i., 94, 

293-4, 296 to 299, 302-27-38-77; 

ii., 249. 
Convito, II (magazine), i., 429. 
Conway, Moncure D., ii., 332. 
Cooper (family), i., 30. 
Cooper, Frederick, i., 440. 
Cooper, Mrs. Samuel, ii., 321-2. 
Corday, Charlotte, ii., 374. 
Cornaro, i., 49. 



Corneille, Le Cid, by, i., 39. 

Cornelius, i., 135. 

Cornhill Magazine, The, i., 216; ii., 

Correggio, i., 109 ; ii., 7i- 
Costa, Sir Michael, i., 48. 
Costa, Raffaele, i., 48. 
Cosway, Mrs., i., 26. 
Cotman, J. Sell, i., 73, 74. 
Cotman, Miles E., i., 74. 
Cotourrier, ii., 61. 
Cottingham, ii., 63, 70, 81. 
Cottle's Life of Coleridge, ii., 

Courbet, ii., 179-80. 

Portrait of Himself, ii., 179. 

Courthope, W. J., i., 306. 
Couve, Mme. Clemence, i., 440. 
Covent Garden, ii., 177. 
Covent Garden Theatre, ii., 43. 
Coventry, ii., 106. 
Cowes, ii., 48. 

Cowper's y<?/«2 Gilpitt, i., 61. 
Cowper - Temple {see Mount- 
Crabb, Mrs. (Herbert), i., 203. 
Crabbe, George, ii., 66. 

Craig, Isa (Mrs. Knox), ii., 183-4. 

Cranborne Alley, London, i., 171. 

Craven, Frederick, i., 247-85. 

Crellin, Dr., ii., 158-9. 

Cremorne Gardens, i., 229-54. 

Crespi, i., 53. 

Crete, i., 286. 

Crieff, i., 317-8; ii., 256. 

Crimea, ii., 128. 

Critchett, Dr., i., 265. 

Critic, The (review), i., 132-8-53 ; ii., 

Crouch (or Croucher), ii., 156-9. 

Crystal Palace, ii., 134-77-8. 

Cumley, Annie, ii., 304. 

Gumming (Brothers), i., 68. 

Cunningham, Allan, i., 84. 

Curci, Dr., i., 49, 

Cyclographic Society, i., 120- 1-2-4, 

166 ; ii., 42, 43, 44. 
Cyprus, i., 368, 


Daily News, The, i., 222. 
Daily Telegraph, The, ii., 219. 
Dalrymple, Lady, i., 209. 
Dalziel, Messrs., i., 189-90 ; ii., 139. 
Dante, i., 16, 44,- 54, 63, 64, 65, 75, 

88, 102-5, 291,403-29-34-9; ii., 38, 

165-74, 275-84, 300-6. 
Comedia, by, i., 15, 64, 159, 

239; ii., 264. 
Convito, by, i., 64. 

Vita Nuova, by, i., 64, 105, 

158, 222-39-45, 364-75 ; ii., 91, 352, 

Darblay, Mme., Diary of, ii., 320-36. 

Evelifia, by, ii , 320. 

Dark Blue Magazine, ii., 230-45-6. 

Darlaston, ii., 95. 

Darmesteter, Mme. (Robinson), i., 

438; ii., 364. 

Darnley, Lord, ii., 277. 

Daughter of the Datiube (ballet), 

i-, 39- 
Daumier, ii., 28, 

D'Avalos, i., 6. 
David, King, ii., 174-5. 
David, L. J., i., 366, 421 ; ii., 61. 
Davies, David, ii., 310. 
Davies, Mrs., ii., 310. 
Davies, William, i., 362. 

British Painting, article by, 

ii., 290-1. 

The Pilgrimage of the Tiber, 

by, i., 362. 

The Shepherd's Garden, by, 

i., 362 ; ii., 299. 
Davis, William, i., 200. 
Day's Sattdford a7id Merton, i., 61. 
De Hooghe, ii.,' 281. 
Deioe's/Jisto?y of the Plag7ce, ii., 6. 
Delacroix, ii., 60, 61, 178-9. 



Delaroche, i., 187; ii., 61. 

Hemicycle, by, i., 187 ; ii., 62. 

Delia Guardia, i., 5 ; ii., 187. 
Denmark Hill, Cambervvell, i., 180. 
Dennis, William., i., 121 ; ii., 44. 
Derby, Lord, ii., 302. 
Deverell, Mrs., i., 171. 
Deverell (senn), i., 171 ; ii., 104-5-18. 
Deverell, Walter H., i., 121-36-51-69, 
171-78-94; ii., 41, 44, 50, 83, 86, 
105, 118 to 121, 125. 

Doctor's Last Visit, by, ii., 121. 

Olivia and Viola, by, i., 172. 

Twelfth Nighty by, i., 17 1-8; 

ii., 129-30. 
Deveria, ii., 28. 

Devil's Punchbowl, Ayrshire, i. , 

Devonshire Street, Portland Place, 
ii., 237. 

Di Menna, i., 53. 

Diable {Le) d Paris, ii., 27, 29. 

Dibdin, Charles, i., 420. 

Dickens, Charles, i., 81, 289-98 ; 
ii., II. 

Baniaby Rudge, by, i., 82. 

David Copperjield, by, i., 10 1. 

Dombey a?td Son, by, i., loi. 

Martiti Chuzzlewit, by, ii., 23. 

Nicholas Nickleby, by, i., 81. 

Old Curiosity Shop, by, i., 82. 

Oliver Twist, by, i., 82. 

Pickwick, by, i., 81. 

Tale of Two Cities, by, i., 10 1, 

Dickins, Thomas, i., 20. 
Dickinson, Lowes, i., 194, 329; ii., 

49. 50. 
Dickinson, Robert, ii., 49. 
Didcot, ii., 262. 
Dijon, i., 237. 
Dilberoglue, Mr., i., 257. 
Dinneford, Messrs., i., 343. 
Dispatch, The, i., 153. 
Dixon, Canon, i., 406. 

Dixon, Thomas, i., 358 ; ii., 361-2-3. 
Dobell, Sidney, i., 420. 

Balder, by, i., 420 ; ii., 128. 

Keith of Ravelston, by, i., 

Doctors' Commons, London, i., 

Dodgson (Lewis Carroll), i., 257, 

Hunting of the Snark, by, i., 

Domitian, i., 312. 
Don Caesar de Bazan, ii., 23, 25. 
Don Quixote, i., 82 ; ii., 25, 28. 
Donati, Forese, ii., 291. 
Donne, Dr., ii., 356. 
Dorset St., London, i., 190. 
Doughty, Mrs., i., 89, 
Doughty, Thomas (junior), i., 89, 90. 
Doughty, Thomas (senior), i., 89. 
Douglas, Catharine, ii., 371-2. 
Dover, ii., 139. 

Dowden, Professor, i., 440; ii., 395. 
Downey, Messrs., 1., 259. 
Downshire Hill, Hampstead, i., 

Doyle, Richard, i., 166. 
Dragon ( The) of Rhodes, i. , 59. 
Dragonetti, i., 47. 
Dramatic Tales, i., 82. 
Drummond Family, i., 318. 
Dryden, John, ii., 349. 
Dublin National Gallery, i., 202. 
Dumas, i., 100-3, 419! "•) $6. 

Dramas by, i., 100. 

Novels by, i., 100. 

■ Pascal Bruno, by, i., 60. 

Dundee, Lord, ii., 251. 

Dunn, H. Treffry, i., 233-48-52-66, 

287, 317-9-26-39-42-3-4-8-60-70, 

402; ii., 222-5-31-52-5-61-3-5-77, 

279-81-7-9-99, 355-82. 

Durer, Albert, i., 183, 283 ; ii., 70, 

Durham, Arthur E., i., 319. 



Dusseldorf Artists' Annual, i., i66; 

ii., ii8. 
Dyce, William, ii., 370. 

Earle, J. J., i., 290; ii., 312. 
Eastlake, Sir Charles L., i., 88, ico; 

ii., 13. 
Eaton Square, London, ii., 143. 
Ecclesiastes, i., 57, 398. 
Echo, The, i., 306. 
Eco {L') di Savona?'ola, i., 53. 
Edgeworth, Miss, Frank, by, i., 61. 
Edinburgh, i., 32, 194; ii., 83, 84, 

252, 302-49. 
Edinburgh Review, The, i., 306. 
Edward I., ii., 277. 
Edward III., ii., 191. 
Edwards, Sutherland, ii., 98, 278-9, 

Egan, Pierce, Robin Hood, by, i., 82. 

Wat Tyler, by, i., 82. 

Egg, A. L., ii., 93. 

Eglintoun Tournament, ii., 137-40. 

Egypt, ii., 120. 

Elizabeth, Queen, i., 230. 

Elliotson, Dr., i., 48. 

Elliott, Rev. William, ii,, 146. 

Ellis, F. S., i., 275-6-91-9, 364; ii., 

224-6-9-31-72, 274 to 277, 283-4-6, 

Reynard the Fox, Translation 

by, ii., 229. 
Ellis & Elvey, i., 275. 
Ellis & White, i., 374. 
ElnikofF, ii., 374. 
Eliot [see Lewes). 
Elphick, Mrs., ii., 126. 
Emma (servant), ii., 234, 
Endsleigh Gardens, London, i., 314 ; 

ii., 195, 230-43-58-9-69-71-97, 300, 

Etty, William, i., 213. 
Euripides, Alcestis, by, ii., 241. 
Euston Railway Station, ii., 258. 

Euston Square {see Endsleigh 

Ewell, ii., 108. 

Examiner, The, i., 338 ; ii., 324-7-8. 
Excise Office, Old Broad St., i., 88, 

168; ii., 31. 

Fabretti, Cavalier Domenico, i., 

Fairford, ii., 196. 
Falkner, Charles, i., 217, 347. 
Fantin-Latour, ii., 178-9-80. 
Ho7nmage a Eugene Delacroix, 

by, ii., 178-9. 
Farmer & Rogers, ii., 270. 
Faro, Conte, i., 47. 
Farringdon, i., 291 ; ii., 244-58-60-2. 
Fassini, Abate, i., 25. 
Fearnley, Rev. Mr., i., 72, 73. 
Feilding, Colonel, ii., 187-9. 
Feilding, Lady Louisa, i., 148; ii., 

Felpham, ii., 322. 
Ferdinand L, i., 6, 7, 8, 13. 
Ferdinand II. (King Bomba), i., 13. 
Ferrara, ii., 33. 
Ferrari, i., 48. 
Ferretti, i., 53. 
Filippi, De', i., 52. 
Filmore, i., 103. 
Finamore, Vocabolario Abruzzese, 

by, i., II. 
Finati, Cavalier, i., 15. 
Finchley, ii., 135, 316. 
Finden, ii., 10. 

Fisher Place, Keswick, ii., 387. 
Fitzroy Sq., London, i., 314-6; ii., 

239, 314-82. 
Flandrin, Hippolyte, ii., 60. 
Pictures in S. Germain des 

Pres by, ii., 62. 
Flaubert, Madame Bovary, by, ii., 

Salafn?nbd, by, ii., 254-72-3-4. 



Florence, i., 32, 34, 64, 106-94, 248 ; 

ii., 10, 225-9-48. 
Florence Accademia, i., 154- 
Foley St., Portland Place, i., 68, 
Folkestone, i., 206; ii., 30, 155, 203, 

Foresti, i., 48. 

Forman, H. Buxton, i., 290, 433. 
■ • Ojir Living Poets, by, i., 433 ; 

ii., 205-6-7-20-31. 
Fortttightly Review, The, i., 271-89, 

293 ; ii., 200-23-80-5. 
Forty Thieves (burlesque), i., 97. 
Foscolo, Ugo, i., 47. 
Foster, Messrs., ii., 383. 
Franconi, ii., 25, 29. 
Fraser's Magazine, i., loi ; ii., 177, 

Free Exhibition, The, i., 145-6 ; ii., 

48, 91. 
Freiheit, ii., 375. 
Freischiitz, Der, i., 43. 
Frere, Edouard, i., 213. 
Frere, J. Hookham, i., 9, 16. 
Frome-Selvvood, i., 10, 23 ; ii., 99, 

Fry, Clarence, i., 350-63; ii., 318, 

Fuhrich, St. Genevieve, by, i., 135. 

Fulford, Rev. William, i., 197. 

Fulham, ii., 256, 342-6. 

Fun (magazine), i., 256. 

Furnivall, Dr., ii., 236. 

Gainsborough, Thomas, i., 109. 
Gairdner, Dr., i., 318. 
Gaite Theatre, Paris, ii., 70. 
Galanti, Giacinto, i., 52. 

The Three Years, by, i., 52. 

Gallenga, i., 49. 

Galloway, Mr., i., 372. 

Gambart, i., 247-85; ii., 129-30-66, 

167-8-81-2, 274. 
Gamberale, Luigi, i., 439 ; ii., 351-81. 

Gamberale, Luigi, Poeti Tnglesi,etc., 

by, ii, 381 to 384. 
Garibaldi, i., 54; ii., 156, 369-70. 
Garrick Club, i., 256. 
Garrick, David, i., 231. 
Gaskell, Mrs., i., 355 ; ii., 165. 
Gassion, i., 73. 
Gateshead-on-Tyne, i., 188, 247 ; 

ii., 166. 
Gavarni {see Chevalier). 
Gavazzi, i., 53. 
Gay's Fables, i., 60. 
Gazza {La) Ladra, i., 39. 
Ge7ns of National Poetry, ii., 352. 
Genesis, Book of, i., 50. 
Geneva, i., 33. 
Genoa, ii., 298. 
Gericault, ii., 62. 
Wreck of the Medusa, by, ii,, 

Germ, The, i., 111-33, 149 to 156, 172, 

197. 351. 430 ; ii- 40, 43. 45, 48, 49. 

52, 54, 63, 71, 83, 84, III, 206. 
Gesta Ro?nanorum, i\., 51. 
Ghent, ii., yj, 80. 
Ghiberti, i., 94, 95, 127. 
Gibbon, i., 103. 
Gil Bias, i., 82. 

Gilbert, Sir John, i., 98 ; ii., 9, 29. 
Gilbert, W. S., i., 256. 

Bab Ballads, by, i., 256. 

Gilchrist, Alexander, i., 109-76, 211, 

212-25-6, 422. 
Life of Blake, by, i., 109, 211, 

226-50, 362 ; ii., 276, 314-59- 
Life of Etty, by, i., 211. 

Gilchrist, Anne, i., 211-25-26-90, 422. 

Life of, i., 211-50. 

Gilchrist, Herbert H., i., 119, 233,401. 

Gilfillan, George, ii., 372. 

Gilioli, Dr., i., 49. 

Gillum, Colonel, i., 205-47; ii., 155. 

Giorgione, ii., 281. 

Vetietian Pastoral, by, i., 156; 

ii;, 68. 



Giotto, i., 127. 

Portrait of Dante, by, i., 65 ; 

ii., 229. 
Giovagnoli, Professor, ii., 318-9. 

Spartaco, by, ii., 318-9. 

Giraud, ii., 28. 
Girvan Water, i., 271. 
Gladstone, W. E., ii., 197, 372-8. 
Glasgow, i., 243-7 ; ii., 237, 368-72. 
Glottenham, ii., 258. 
Gloucester, ii., 181, 340. 
Gloucester Gate, Regent's Park, 

i., 89. 
Gloucestershire, i., 323; ii., 244. 
Glyn, Miss, i., 97 ; ii., 84. 
Godwin's Lives of the Necro- 

fnancers, ii., 325-6. 
Goedaerdt's Meta??iorphosis Natur- 

alis, i., 61. 
Goethe, i., 75. 
Faust, by, i., 59, 60, 98, 103. 

IVerther, by, ii., 382-3. 

Wilhelm Meister, by, i., 417-8. 

Goldsmid, Sir Isaac L,, i., 44, 45. 
Goldsmith's Deserted Village, ii., 15. 
Gombauld's Endymion, i., 62. 
Gorlestone, ii., 345. 

Gosse, Edmund, i., 287-92-3, 419 ; 

ii., 324. 
Gower Street, London, i., 125. 
Gozzoli, i., 125. 
Graham, Edward, i., 9. 
Graham, William, i., 243-7-83-4, 317, 

323-6-62-3-72-3, 400-1-3; ii., 237, 

250-3-5-6-7-63-71-4-9-96-7, 304, 

Graham, William, jun.,i., 283; ii.,271. 
Grandville, ii., 28. 
Granet, ii., 61. 
Gray's Inn Road, ii., 55. 
Great Hough, ii., 389. 
Green (Frame-maker), ii., 99. 
Green, N. E., i., 121. 
Greenacre, i., 172-3. 
Gregson, ii., 346. 

Grimm's Life of Michelangelo, ii., 

Grisi, Julia, i., 39 ; ii., 43. 
Grosvenor Gallery, i., 352-3. 
Grosvenor Place, London, i., 283. 
Gruneisen, ii., 302. 
Guardian, The, i., 153; ii., 84. 
Guittone d'Arezzo, Rime di, ii., 388. 
Gull, Sir William, i., 265. 
Gulliver's Travels, i., 60. 
Guy's Hospital, i., 151 ; ii., 198. 


H. (J. K), i., 257-8. 

H., Mrs., i., 202-3-41, 349. 

Haddon Hall, ii., 148. 

Hake, Dr., i., 167, 281-92-9, 307, 311 

to 317, 322-8-33, 402-27 ; ii., 252-3, 

255-6-67-98, 325. 

Madeline, by, ii., 228. 

■ Me?noi7's of Eighty Years, by, 

i., 281, 310-12-8-37. 
Parables and Tales, by, ii., 228, 

285, 324. 

Vates, by, i., 100, 281. 

Hake, George, i., 287, 314-7-21-8, 330 
to 334, 339-44-60; ii., 250-2-6 258 
to 264, 270-1-3-8-85-8-9-90-4-8, 
304-9-14-5-9-2 1-5-6-9-32-4-5-9. 

Hale, Dr., ii., 129. 

Halford, Sir Henry, i., 32. 

Hall, Dr. Marshall, ii., 90. 

Hall, S. Carter, i., 153. 

Hallam, Arthur, ii., 141. 

Halleck's Marco Bozaris, i., 60. 

Halliday, Michael F., i., 166, 280; 
ii., 150, 200, 312-3. 

Blind Basket-jnaket's Child, 

by, ii., 1 50-1. 

Hamilton, Mrs. (Leyland), i., 364. 

Hammersmith Terrace, ii., 274. 

Hampstead, i., 38, 80; ii., 159-60, 
23 1-2-5-5 1. 

Hancock, John, i., 121-51 ; ii., 40, 
41, 50, 62, 82, 83. 



Hancock, John, Beatrice, Statue by, 

ii., 82. 
Christ's Entry into Jeriisaletn, 

by, ii., 82. 
Hannay, James, i., 194, 351 ; ii., 84, 

87, 90, 1 1 1-3-20-36, 278-9, 301-2. 

Eustace Conycrs, by, ii., 139. 

Singleton Fontenoy, by, ii., 139. 

Hannay, J. L., ii., 301. 

Hannay, Mrs. James, i., 194, 222-41 ; 

ii., 184, 279. 
Hansen, Adolf, i., 440. - 
Hardinge, W. M., i., 156, 440. 
Hardy, i., 43. 
Hare, Dr., ii., 66. 
Harold, King, ii., 18. 
Harris, Dr., i., 391, 394 to 399, 401. 
Hart, Solomon, i., 88. 
Hartmann von Aue, i., 104. 
Hartwell, Lady, ii., 25. 
Hastings, i., 180, 206, 338; ii., 10, 

II, 18, 95, 96, 97, 127-9-38-77, 

■ St. Clement's Church, i., 206 ; 

ii., 157. 
Havre, ii., 145. 
Haydon, Benjamin R., ii., 108, 328-9. 

Correspondence, by, ii., 327-8-9. 

Raisi?tg of Lazarus, by, i., 39. 

Tom Taylor's Life of, ii., 108, 


Uriel, by, ii., 328. 

Haydon, F. W., ii., 327-8. 
Haydon, Miss Mary, ii., 329. 
Haydon, Mrs. B. R., ii., 329. 
Haydon, S. J. B., i., 361. 
Hamlet and Ophelia, Etching 

by, i., 367. 
Hayes, Rev. Mr., 1., 71, 86. 
Haymarket Theatre, ii., 98. 
Haynes, ii., 49, 50, 81. 
Heaton, J. Aldam, i., 401 ; ii., 169, 

Heaton, Miss, i., 189; ii., 169, 351. 
Heaton, Mrs. J. Aldam, ii., 169. 

Heimann, Dr., i., 87, 104-10-94; li., 

II, 16, 17, 18, 25, 28, 33. 
Heimann, Mrs., i., 1 10. 
HenkerwysseVs Challenge, i., 108. 
Henry I., ii., 357. 
Henry VIII., i., 230. 
Herbert, J. R., ii., 48, 50. 

Ch?'ist at Nazaj'eth, by, i., 147. 

Herbert {see Crabb). 

Heme Bay, i., 340-1 ; ii., 32, 44. 

Hesse, ii., 61. 

Hewitt, ii., 270. 

Hexham, ii., 105-6-10. 

Highgate, ii., 259-60. 

Cemetery, i., 11, 23, 224-5-50; 

ii., 221-36. 
Rise, i., 177, 222 ; ii., 95. 

Histonium, i., 4. 

Hodgepodge (MS. magazine), ii., 

16, 18, 293. 
Hodgson, Rev. Mr., i., 72. 
Hoffmann's Contes Fajttastiques, i., 

Hofland, Mrs., Son of a Genius, 

and Daughter of do., by, i., 61. 
Hogarth, i., 187 ; ii., 275-6, 360. 

Club, i., 204; ii., 149-50-2. 

Hogg, T. Jefferson, ii., 382. 

Life of Shelley, by, ii., 382. 

Holbein, ii., 278-82. 

Dance of Death, by, i., 99. 

Holland, James, i., 213. 

Holmer Green, Bucks, i., 26, 62, 79. 

Homer's Iliad, i., 81. 

Pope's Translation of, i., 81. 

Odyssey, i., 81. 

Hone's Every-day Book, i., 82. 
Hood, Thomas, i., 100; ii., 48. 

Comic Annual, by, i., 61. 

Haunted House, by, i., 100. 

Lycus the Centaur, by, i., 100. 

Miss Kilmansegg, by, i., 100. 

Hook, J. C, i., 213. 
Hookham, i., 275. 
Hopkins, ii., 329. 



Horace, ii., 8. 

Home, R. H., Death of Marlowe, 

by, ii., 51. 
Exposition of the False 

Medium, etc., by, ii., 40. 
Orion, by, ii., 51. 

Houghton, Lord, Life of Keats, by, 

ii-, 39. 41. . 
Hour, The, ii., 329. 
House of Lords, ii., 370. 
Houses of Parliament, i., 92; ii., 12. 
Houston, Madame, ii., 157. 
Howard, Lady Isabella, i., 99. 
Howell, Charles A., i., 248-57-8-9, 

262-74, 322 to 325, 329-49-50-1, 

363; ii., 221-56-8-63-5-70-1-4-7-9, 

281-5-94-6, 348. 
Howitt, Dr., ii., 118. 
Hovvitt, Mary, i., 166-77-94; ii., 95, 

96, 1 1 8-20-6. 
Howitt, William, i., 177 ; ii., 118, 219. 
Howitt's Standard of Freedom, i., 

Howitt-Watts, Mrs., i., 177 ; ii., 95, 

96, 120-6-8-36. 
Art-Stttde7it iti Munich, by, ii., 


Margaret, picture by, ii., 120. 

Howley, Archbishop, i., 70. 
Hueffer, Francis, i., 282-9, 327-61, 

401-9-34; ii., 228-39-51-2-3-76-7 

Hueffer, Mrs. Ford M., i., 119. 
Hueffer, Mrs. Francis (Brown), i., 

255-82, 402; ii., 251-2-3. 
Hughes, Arthur, i., 129-66-94-8, 200, 

213, 329; ii., 139-84. 

The Birthday, by, ii., 184. 

Hugo, Victor, i., 83, 103. 

Noire Dame de Paris, by, i., 83 ; 

ii-, 273. 
Hunt, Alfred, i., 213. 
Hunt, Chandos Leigh, i., 339. 
Hunt, Leigh, i., 122-3 ; ii., 36, 37, 38. 
Legettd of Florence, by, ii., 84. 

Hunt, Leigh, Lord Byron and Con- 
temporaries, by, ii., 36. 

Hunt, William, i., 213. 

Hunt, William Holman, i., 19, 94, 95, 
115, 1 19 to 131, 1 33-4-5-8-9-4 1-2-5, 
146, 149 to 152, 157-8-66-9-79-89, 
190-1-4, 200- 1 -5 -6- 1 0-3, 333, 409, 
412-24-5-30; ii., 39, 40, 42, 48 to 
51, 54, 55, 56, 59 to 68, 70,74,75. 
76, 85, 86, 87, 90, 93, 94, 97, 108, 
1 18-20-2-8-30-48-50-75-84. 

Christian Missiotiary and 

Druids, by, i., 162. 

Deverell, Portrait of, by, i., 


— Eve of St. Agnes, by, i., 120. 

— Millais and D. G. Rossetti, 
Portraits of, by, i., 163. 

— Prceraphaelitism, by, i., 94. 

— Prceraphaelite Brotherhood, by, 

1., 94, 95, 129. 
• Rienzi Swearing Revenge, by, 

i., 141-2; ii., 39. 
— Two Gentlemen of Verona, by, 

1., 172-8. 

Woodstock, by, i., 120. 

Hunter (family), i., 30. 

Hunter's Forestall, Heme Bay, i., 

340 to 343, 360 ; ii., 348-87. 
Hutchins (family), i., 30. 
Hutchinson, i., 223. 
Huth, i., 263. 
Hutton, i., 73. 
Hyde Park Corner, i., 145. 
Hypneroto7nachia Poliphili, i., 62. 


Iceland, ii., 238-44-6-64. 
Ida (Miss Siddal), i., 184. 
Illustrated London News, The, i., 

Illustrated Scrapbook, ii., 16, 18. 
Illustration (newspaper), ii., 29. 
Inchbold, J. T., i., 166, 200. 
Index Librorutn Prohibitorum, i., 15. 



India, ii., 232. 

Ingelow, Miss, ii., 177. 

Ingram's Life of Edgar Poe, ii., 

Ingres, i., 156; ii., 61, 62, 72. 

Inland Revenue Office, ii., 31, 

lonides, Constantine, i., 364. 

• (family), i., 257. 

Iroquois, i., 71. 

Isaiah, ii., 365. 

Italian Opera-house, i., 39. 


Jack the Giant-Killer^ i., 61. 

Jacopone da Todi, i., 382. 

James I. of Scotland, ii., 198, 371, 


King's Quair, by, ii., 197. 

Janer, i., 48. 

Jenner, Sir William, i., 280, 343 ; 

ii., 336. 
Jenner & Knewstub, ii., 187. 
Jerdan {see Arrow). 
Jerrold, Douglas, i., 161. 
Jervis, Swynfen, i., 44, 45 ; ii., 95, 

Jervis {see Lewes). 
Jessie, i., 243. 
Jesus Christ, i., 380; ii., 42, 174-5, 

Joan of Arc, i., 374. 
Job, Book of i., 57. 
Johannot, Tony, ii., 21, 23, 24, 25. 
John Bull, The, i., 153. 
Jones {see Burne-Jones). 
Jones, Ebenezer, i., 11 1-52; ii., 199. 
Studies of Sensation and Event, 

by, i., III. 
Jones, George, i., 93. 
Juarez, President, i., 411. 
Jump (family), i., 30. 


Kean, Edmund, i., 66. 

Keats, John, i., 100, 327, 416 ; ii., 

39, 70, 328-60. 
Belle Dame sans Merci, by, i., 

120, 420, 

Eve of St. Mark, by, ii., 64. 

Isabella, by, i., 141. 

Keble, ii., 11. 

Keene, J. B., i., 121. 

Keightley, Thomas, i., 44, 325 ; ii., 


Fairy Mythology, by, i., 44. 

Kelmscott Manor-house, i., 243-91, 

292-3, 321 to 326, 328 to 331, 334, 

351-77, 419-27; ii-, 233-4-5-7-42-4, 

2 5 5-7-8-6 1 -2-3-8-78-95-7, 304- 1 2. 
Kemble, J. P., i., 66, 67. 
Kempe, Rev. J. E., i., 30. 
Kenilworth, i., 266 ; ii., 106-91. 
Kennedy, W. D., ii., 34. 
Kennington, i., 274. 
Kent, i., 390. 
Keomi, i., 242. 
Kerr, ii., 234. 
Kew Green, ii., 349. 
Kidderminster, i., 155. 
Killiecrankie, ii., 251. 
Kincaid, Mr., i., 185; ii., 143. 
Kincaid, Mrs., i., 185-6; ii., 143. 
King St., Covent Garden, i., 275 ; 

ii., 239. 
King's College, London, i., 9. 
King's College School, i., 69, 71, 72, 

76, 88, 105 ; ii., 5. 
Kinnordy, i., 3. 

Kipling, Mrs. (Macdonald), i., 209. 
Kipling, Rudyard, i., 209. 
Kirkup, Barone, i., 64 ; ii., 229, 324, 

Kitchener (family), i., 30. 
Knewstub, W. J., i., 237-48; ii., 

Knight, Joseph, i., 170, 254-6-78, 

392, 408-9-33 ; ii., 236-77. 
Article in Le Livrc, by, i., 393; 

"•. 392-3- 



Knight, Joseph, Life of D. G. Rossetti, 

by, i-, 235, 392 ; ii., 312. 
Knox (see Craig). 
Kock, Paul de, ii., 28. 

Ce Motisieiir, by, ii., 28. 

M. Dupont, by, ii., 32. 

Kaeuba the Pirate Vessel {^X2in\?i), ii., 

Kotzebue, i., 8. 

Lablache, i., 39. 

Lady's Glen, Ayrshire, i., 272, 

Lamartine, i., 439. 

Lamb, Poo7' Relations, by, i., 45. 

Tales from Shakespear, by, i., 

Lambert, i., 160. 

Lamotte-Fouque's Undine, i., 100. 
Lancaster Place, London, i., ']']. 
Landon, Miss, ii., 41. 
Landseer, Thomas, i., 281. 
Langon and Tonchard, Les Jolies 

Filles, by, ii., 32. 
Lasinio's Engravings from Campo 

Santo, Pisa, i., 125-6. 
La Trobe, Governor, ii., 11 7-8. 
Laurati, Pietro, The Resurrection, 

by, ii., 305-6. 
Lawrence, ii., 22. 
Lawson, Cecil, i., 339. 
Lawson, Malcolm, i., 339. 
Le Mesurier (family), i., 30. 
Leader, C. Temple, ii., 10, 11. 
Lear, C. H., ii., 34. 
Lear, Edward, Bookof NoJtsense, by, 

i-, 327; iiv 34- 
Leathart, James, i., 188, 205-39-47, 

248; ii., 153-66. 
Leatherhead, Surrey, i., 20. 
Lechlade, i., 291 ; ii., 235-42-4-68-78. 
Leech, John, i., 166. 
Leeds, i., 189, 205-66; ii., 143-5-96, 

Lefevre, i., 307-8. 

Legberthwaite, i., 377. 

Legends of Terror, i., 82, 84. 

Legros, Alphonse, i., 237. 

Leicester Square, i., 89, 221-3. 

Leigh, Hon. Mrs., ii., 219. 

Leighton, Sir Frederick, i., 366, 423. 

Lempriere's Dictionary, ii., 211. 

Leopardi, i., 49 

Leslie, C. R., ii., 9. 

Lester (family), i., 30. 

Levasseur, ii., 61. 

Lever, Charles OMalley, by, ii., 11. 

Levy, i., 350. 

Lewes, Mrs. (George Eliot), i., 290, 


Rofnola, by, i., 420. 

Lewes, Mrs. (Jervis), i., 45. 

Lewis, J. T., i., 213. 

Lewis, M. G., Castle Spectre, by, i., 


Tales of Wonder, by, i., 60. 

Leyland, F. R., i., 232-47-9-84, 323, 

325 -30-49-61 -3-4-83-9 1-4-6-7-8, 

401 ; ii., 188, 305-12-8-52-69-77. 
Leyland {see Hamilton). 
Leys, Baron, i., 213, 414; ii., 21 1-2. 
Lichfield House, Picture Exhibition 

at, ii., 92. 
Lincoln, Abraham, i., 374. 
Lincoln's Inn Fields, i., 228-37; ii., 

Lind, Jenny, ii., 33. 
Linnell, John, i,, 423 ; ii., 276. 
Linton, W. J., i., 189; ii., 51, 169, 

Literary Gazette, The, i., 146. 
Little Holland House, i., 198, 348. 
Liverpool, i., 217-47-84, 355-71-2-6, 

394 ; ii., 91, 128-40-5, 379-84-6, 

Liverpool Walker Art-Gallery, i., 

189, 222-83, 370-2-3; ii., 144, 224, 

Livre d'Heures, ii., 336-7. 
Livi'e, Le, ii., 392. 



Llandaff Cathedral, i., 188-92, 202, 
205; ii., 152-75- 

Loader, ii., 189-90. 

Lockhart-Scott, Lieutenant, i., 'j'] . 

Locock, Sir William, i., 36 ; ii., 9. 

London, Chatham, and Dover Rail- 
way, i., 389. 

London Docks, ii., 121-43. 

London Quarterly Review , i., 420. 

Longfellow's Hiawatha, ii., 213-4. 

Lonsdale, Bishop, i., 70. 

Lome, Marquis of, i., 355. 

Losh, Miss, i., 267-8-70-9 ; ii., 198, 

Losh, Miss (senior), ii., 202. 

Louis XVII., i., 51. 

Louis Philippe, i., 54, 55 ; ii., 370. 

Louise, Princess, i., 354-5. 

Louvel, i„ 8. 

Louvre, The, i., 206, 430 ; ii., 62, 68, 

Love, Miss, i., 160. 
Lowe, Sir Hudson, Journal by, ii., 

Lucrezia Borgia (Opera), ii., 43. 
Luini, Christ and St. Joht, by, ii., 

Luke, St., i., 403. 
Lushington, Judge Vernon, i., 401, 

402 ; ii., 139. 
Luxembourg Gallery, ii., 61, 62, 72. 
Lyell, Mr. Charles, i., 3, 44, 144; 

ii., 71, 81, 168. 
Lyell, Sir Charles, i., 3 ; ii., 168. 
Lying-in-Hospital, London, i., 212. 
Lymington, ii., 192. 
Lynmouth, ii., 239. 
Lyons, ii., 270. 
Lyster, A. C, i., 44. 


M. M. C, i., 413. 
MacCallum, Andrew, i., 155. 
MacCallum, Mrs. Andrew, i., 155. , 
MacCracken, Francis, i., 160-1-78, 

186, 247; ii., 86, 100-5-7-8, III to 
115, 117-9-27-8-32. 

Macdonald {see Burne-Jones, Kip- 
ling, and Poynter). 

Macgregor, Colonel, i., 20. 

Macgregor, Georgina, i., 20. 

Macgregor, Sir Patrick, i., 20. 

Maclver, Flora, The Atheist, by, 
i., 90. 

Mackay, Dr. Charles, ii., 39, 40. 

Mackechnie, i., 280. 

Mackenzie, Miss, i., 242. 

Maclise, Daniel, ii., 370. 

Macmillan, Alex., ii. 162-3-4. 

Macmillan' s Magazine^ ii., 162, 391. 

MacQueen, i., 169. 

Maddox St. Academy, ii., 36, 37, 

Maenza, Giuseppe, i., 98, 206 ; ii., 

19 to 24, 26, 29, 30, 156-8, 224. 
Maenza, Mrs., ii., 19, 22, 30, 224. 
Maenza, Peppino, ii., 19, 20, 21, 23, 

25, 27, 30. 31. 32, 156. 
Main's Treasury of Sotmets, ii., 357, 

Maitland (model), i., 160. 

Maitland, Thomas {see Buchanan). 
Major, Dr., i., 70. 
Malet, Lady, Violet, by, i., loi. 
Mallet du Pan's Memoirs, ii., 87. 
Malory's Mo7-t Arthur, i., 196 ; ii., 

Malta, i., 6, 8, 9. 
Malvern, ii., 177, 335. 
Mamiani, ii., 45. 
Manchester, i., 247-85, 336-61-98, 

400-2-13 ; ii., 91, 1 8 1-8, 200-98, 


Art Schools, i., 353. 

Town Hall, i., 361; ii., 353, 

Manet, ii., 179-80. 
Mannings, The, ii., 71. 
Mansfield, Notts, ii., 44. 
Mantegna, i., 156 ; ii., 62. 



Mapei, i., 53. 

Marchesani, Giuseppe, i., 4. 

Margate, i., 388 ; ii., 391. 

Mario, i., 39. 

Marks, Messrs., i., 263. 

Marks, Murray, i., 401 ; ii., 254. 

Marks (Stationer), i., 43. 

Marlborough, Duke of, i., 103. 

Maroncelli, Dr., i., 49; ii., 33. 

Marseillaise, The, i., 40. 

Marshall, Frank A., i., 290. 

Marshall, John, i., 221-4-65-87, 307, 

310-2-4-5-6-9-22-9, 340 to 343, 

377-84-5-7-91. 394 to 398, 402; 

ii., 119-20, 262-7-85-91, 336-46-8. 
Marshall (of Leeds), ii., 143-4. 
Marshall, Peter Paul, i., 217, 329-47. 
Marsi, De', i., 48. 
Marston, Dr. J. Westland, i., 290-2, 

383, 440; ii., 146, 371. 
Marston, Philip B., i., 292-3, 361-83, 

401; ii., 364-71. 
Martin and WestalVs Illustrations 

of the Bible, i., 61, ']']. 
Martin (Birchington), i., 394-7-8, 401. 
Martin, John, i., 61, 88. 
Martin, Mrs. (Burrows), i., 30. 
Martin, Sir Theodore, i., 148, 290. 
Maitineau, Harriet, i., 33. 
Marylebone Road, London, i., 72. 
Masseria, Captain, i., 26. 
Masson, Professor, ii., 162-3. 
Matlock, i., 200 ; ii., 147. 
Maturin, R. W., i., loi. 

Bertram, by, i., loi. 

Mehfwth the Wanderer, by, i., 


Montorio, by, i., 10 1. 

The Albigenses, by, i., 10 1. 

The Wild Irish Boy, by, i., 10 1. 

Women, by, i., loi. 

Maudsley, Dr., i., 310. 
Maudsley, Henry, i., 384 to 388. 
Maimder's Treasury, ii., 284. 
Maunsell (family), i., 30. 

Maurice, Rev. F. D., ii., 136. 
Maximilian, Emperor of Mexico, 

i., 411. 
Mayo, Adelfo, i., 18. 
Mazeppa (drama), i., 39. 
Mazzini, i., 53, 215 ; ii., 161, 370. 
Meinhold, A?nber Witch, by, i., loi. 

Sidonia the Sorceress, hy, {., loi. 

Melbourne, ii., 117-8. 

Mellon, Mrs. (Woolgar), i., 97, 

Memling, 1., 156, 430; ii., 71. 

Mendel, ii., 182. 

Menken, Adah I., ii., 232-3-4. 

Poems, by, ii., 232-3-6. 

Meredith, George, i., 210-28-9-34-5, 

236-90 ; ii., 1 71-2. 
Merimee, Colomba, by, ii., 32. 

La Venus d'llle, by, ii., 32. 

Merivale's Roman Empii'e, i., 103, 

Merritt, Henry, ii., 237. 
Merton, Surrey, ii., 316-7. 
Metternich, Prince, i., 54. 
Mexico, 1., 411. 
Meynell, Mrs., ii., 361. 
Michelangelo, i., 326-57-66; ii., 60, 

280 to 283. 

Archers, by, ii., 366-7. 

Holy Family, by, ii., 365. 

-— Last Judgmerit, by, ii., 62. 

Medici Tombs, by, ii., 330. 

Poems by, i., 326 ; ii., 274 to 

278, 281-5. 

Sixtine Frescoes, by, ii., 329. 

Mignard, i., 6. 
Milan, i., 236. 
Mill, James, Stories frorn English 

History^ by, i., 61. 
Mill, John Stuart, Autobiography, 

i- 55- 
Millais, Sir John E., i., 23, 94, 120-2, 
124 to 129, 131-3, 137 to 141, 145, 
146-9-5 5-8-63-6r79-89-94, 200-10, 
213,413-25-30; ii., 48, 52, 68, 89, 
90, 94, 1 20-5-7-30- 1 -9. 



Millais, Sir John E., Carpenters 

Shop, by, i., 162-3 ; ii.^ 83, 84. 
Departure of Crusaders, by, i., 


Ferdinand lured by Ariel, by, 

i., 132. 
Lorettzo and Isabella, by, i., 


— Mariana, by, i., 178. 

— Ophelia, by, i., 172. 

— Return of Dove to Ark, by, i., 

— Rossettis Autopsy chology, etch- 

ing by, i., 155. 

— Sir Isumbras at the Ford, by, 
i., 210. 

— Stephens and William Rossetti, 

Portraits of, by, i., 163. 

Woodfnan s Daughter, by, i.. 


Miller (The) and his Men, i., 43. 
Miller, Joaquin, ii., 286. 
Miller, John, i., 217 ; ii., 128-30. 
Millet, i., 413. 
Milton, i., 26, 73, 191, 433-8 ; ii., 5, 

6, 12, 14, 282. 
—- — Paradise Lost, by, i , 26. 
Minister, Mr., i., 229. 
Minto, Professor, i., 347-8. 
Mitchell, i., 247 ; ii., 178, 
Moliere, ii., 21. 
Montecalvo, Grotto of, i., 5. 
Monthly Repository, The, i., 112. 
Monti-Baraldi, Signora, i., 49. 
Moore, Admiral Sir Graham, i., 8. 
Moore, Lady, i., 8. 
More, Antonio, ii., 277-8. 
Moreau, Gustave, i., 393. 
Morgue, The, Paris, ii., 74. 
Morley, John, ii., 280-2-3-6. 
Morning Chronicle, The, i., 146-54. 
Morone, ii., 196. 
Morris & Co., i., 217-9 i ii-> 33°- 
Morris, Marshall, Falkner, & Co., i., 

217-9, 346. 

Morris, Miss Jane, ii., 234-62-3-4-95, 

Morris, Miss May, ii., 234-8-62-4-95, 

297-8, 303-5- 
Morris, Mrs. WiUiam (Burden), i., 

199, 200-22-41-3-4-5-69-82-4-5, 

325-47-64-83 ; ii., 224-5-7-34-8, 

263-5-8-95, 320-3-4. 
Morris, William, i., 192-5-6-7-9, 201, 

202-6-9, 217 to 220, 278-90-1, 306, 

321-9-33-87, 425-6-36 ; ii., 155-65, 

169, 224-5-7-33-8-9-41, 243 to 246, 


Bhie Closet, by, i., 192. 

Defence of Guenevere, by, i-, 199. 

T7ine of Seven Towers, by, i., 

Morrison, ii., 63, 71. 
Mortara, Cavalier, i., 48, 51 ; ii., 10, 

II, 15, 25, 27. 
Mortara, Conte, ii., 10. 
Moscati, Marchese, i., 48. 
Mose (family), i., 30. 
Mount-Temple, Lady, i., 239, 338, 

401 ; ii., 188, 268, 334-5. 
Mount-Temple, Lord, i., 247, 338 ; 

ii., 188, 237, 333-4-5-70. 
Mourey, Gabriel, i., 429. 
Moxon & Co., ii., 192-9, 222. 
Moxon, Edward, i., 189; ii., 145-6. 
Moron's Popiclar Poets, ii., 199, 232, 

Mulready, William, i., 189. 

Munro, Alex., i., 1 10-6 1-6-9-86-94, 
290; ii., 40, 42, 130-7, 269. 

Arthur and Round Table, by, 

i., 198. 

Galileo, by, i., 196. 

Munro, Miss, ii., 269, 334. 

Munro, Mrs., ii., 269. 

Miinster, i., 282. 

Muntham, Sussex, ii., 134-51-72,326. 

Murat, Achille, i., 50. 

Murat, Joachim, i., 7. 

Murillo's Holy Family, i., 50. 



Murray, C. Fairfax, i., 188-9, 248, 

Murray, John, i., 34, 275 ; ii., 92, 93. 

Musee Philipon, ii., 28. 

Musset, Alfred de, i., 100. 

Mutius Scaevola, ii., 374. 

Myers, F. W. H., i., 436. 

Nanteuil, C£lestin, ii., 24, 28. 
Naples, i., 7, 8, 9, 39, 52, 53. 

Kingdom of, i., 4, 48, 62. 

Museum, i., 7, 8. 

University, i., 6. 

Napoleon I., i., 81, 243 ; ii., ill. 
Napoleon III., i., 7, 13, 258, 411. 
Nassau St., Marylebone, i., 50. 
National Gallery, i., 63, 122-58-68, 
191, 209-39, 338,429-30; ii., 46, 

147. 237, 365. 
National Institution, The, i., 145-60, 

National Magazine, The, ii., 146. 
National Portrait Gallery, i., 95 ; ii., 

169-70, 345. 
Natiojtal Review, The, ii., 171. 
Naundorf, i., 51. 
Nazareth, ii., 218. 
Nettleship, J. T., i., 281 ; ii., 200-19, 

Neubourg, Comte de, i., 51. 
Neureuther, i., 104. 
New College, Oxford, ii., 142. 
New Review, The, i., 22. 
New Testament, Greek, i., 81. 
Nevvcastle-on-Tyne, i., 112-65-77-94, 

205-47-59 ; ii., 92, 93, 100-1-5-6-71, 

Newenham, Princes in the Towe?; 

by, i., 162-3. 
Newgate Calendar, i., 82. 
Newington Butts, i., 172. 
Newman, Cardinal, i., 53. 
Newman St., London, i., 151-69, 

170; ii., 82, 86. 

Newton, Sir Isaac, ii., 328. 

Nibelnngenlied, The, i., 104. 

Nice, i., 185. 

Nichol, Professor, ii., 372. 

Nightingale, Miss, i., 32 ; ii., 128. 

Nightingale, Rev. T., ii., 157. 

Ninetee7ith Centiiry, The, i., 340, 408. 

Niton, Isle of Wight, ii., 54. 

Noble, J. Ashcroft, i., 440. 

Noir, Victor, i., 7. 

Nordau, Max, i., 423. 

Normandy, ii., 115. 

North (senr.), i., 170. 

North, William, i., 150-94; ii., 48, 

49, 50, 83. 
North- Western Railway, i., 168. 
Northampton, Marquis of, ii., 86, 

87, 88. 
Northiam, ii., 190-1. 
Norton, C. Eliot, i., 290 ; ii., 225-6. 
Norwich, i., 214-7; ii., 187. 

Hospital, i., 33. 

Notes and Queries, i., 1 1 1, 413-4 ; ii., 

196, 213, 342. 
Notre Dame, Paris, ii., 61, 67. 
Nuremberg, ii., 104-5. 


Oakes, i., 213. 

Observer, The, i., 146. 

Old Roar, Hastings, ii., 138. 

OHve, i., 328. 

Olivieri, Dr., ii., 364-5. 

Orcagna, i., 125; ii., 276. 

Orme, Mr., ii., 120. 

Orme, Mrs., i., 194; ii., 119-20. 

Ormsby, ii., 302. 

Orsini, Felice, i., 54, 257-8 ; ii., 378. 

Osborne, ii., 100. 

O'Shaughnessy, Arthur, i., 328 ; ii., 

O'Shaughnessy, Mrs. (Marston), ii., 

O'Shaughnessy, Mrs. (senr.), ii., 371. 
Ostend, ii., yj. 



Overbeck, i., 135. 

Ovid, i., 71. 

Owens, ii., 140. 

Oxford, i., 192-5-9, 200-15-44-62, 

334, 425 ; ii-, 89, 142-7. 
Oxford and Cambridge Magazine, 

i., 197, 401-6. 
Oxford Fine Art Gallery, i., 179; ii., 

Oxford Museum, i., 195-6, 422; ii., 

Oxford Street, London, ii. , 9, 254. 
Oxford Theatre, i., 199. 
Oxford, Union Rooms, i., 196-7-8, 

407; ii., 146-58. 
Oxford University, i., 192-9, 262 ; ii., 

86, i6r, 225-85,361. 
Oxfordshire, i., 323 ; ii., 244. 

P.R.B., i., 131-3, 137 to 141, 143-5, 

1 61-3-8-9-75-83, 206, 342-5 [; ii., 

61, 62, 70, 71, 83, 122. 
Paddington Railway Station, ii., 

Paganini, i., 47. 
Palizzi, Filippo, ii., 123-4. 
Palizzi, Giuseppe, ii., 123-4. 
Pall Mall, i., 63. 
Pall Mall Gazette, The, i., 214, 368 ; 

ii., 223-6. 
Palmer, i., 109. 
Palser, ii., 9. 
Panizzi, i., 53, 54. 
Pantheon Bazaar, i., 39, 117. 
Paoli, General de', i., 26. 
Paris, i., 25, 158-85, 206-7-59-63, 

413-22 ; ii., 12, 26, 49, 59, 61, 63, 

69, 73- 74, 75, 80, 81, 105-20-3-55, 

158-78-9-80, 234. 
Paris Great Exhibition, 1855, i., 186. 
Park Village East, London, i., 26 ; 

ii., 10, II, 101-12-21. 
Parma, i., 5. 
Parodi, i., 49. 

VOL. n. 

Parsons, J. R., i., 325 ; ii., 254-65. 
Pasta, Giuditta, i., 47. 
Pater, Walter, i., 437. 
Paternoster Row, i., 150; ii., 49. 
Patmore, Coventry, i., 105-52-78-9, 

189-94, 215,408-36; ii., 52, 53, 54, 

1 1 9-2 1 -46. 

The Seasons, by, i., 152 ; ii., 53. 

Patmore, Mrs., i., 194 ; ii., 53. 

Paton, Lady, ii., 385. 

Paton, Sir J. Noel, i., 284, 353-61, 

424; ii., 385-8. 
Patteson, J. and H., i., 403. 
Paul, Benjamin H., ii., 87. 
Paul, Mr. (junr.), i., 60, 68, 69. 
Paul, Rev. Mr., i., 68, 69, 70. 
Paul Veronese, i., 207. 
Marriage at Cana, by, i., 206, 

207; ii., 157. 
Payne, Burnell, ii., 193, 214. 
Payne (Coroner), i., 223. 
Payne, J. Bertrand, ii., 199. 
Peacock at Ho7)ic, The, i., 61. 
Peel Park, Manchester, ii., 360. 
Pellico's France sea da Rimini, ii., 

Pen, The, ii., 361-2. 
Penkill Castle, i., 253, 266 to 271, 273, 

274-9-80; ii., 196-7, 201 -14-23-3 1-5. 
Penwhapple (Rivulet), i., 271. 
Pepe, General Guglielmo, i., 54. 
Pepoli, Count Carlo, i., 48. 
Percy s Reliqites, i., 98. 
Perraiilfs Co7ites des Fees, ii., 28. 
Perth, i., 317-8; ii., 258, 372-81. 
Perth, Duke of, i., 318. 
Peter Parley's Natural History, i., 

Petrarca, i., 71. 
Petroni, i., 47. 
Pevensey Castle, ii., 362, 
Philological Society's English Dic- 
tionary, ii., 183. 
Piccadilly, i., 204; ii., 151-81. 
Pickering, ii., 31^1, 




Piedmont, i., 13. 

Pierce, General Frederick, i., 2g. 

Pierce, Harriet, i., 31, 185. 

Pierce, Mrs. William (Arrow), i., 29, 

Pierce, Richard, i., 29. 
Pierce, William, i., 24, 29, 30, 36. 
Pierce (see Polidori). 
Pietrocola {see Rossetti). 
Pietrocola-Rossetti, Teodorico, i., 11, 

34. 35. 391 ; ii-. 97, 98, 205-17, 393. 

Alice in Wonderland, trans- 
lated by, i., 34. 

Biography of Gabriele Rossetti, 

by, i., 34. 
— Christina Rossett€s Gobliti- 

Market, translated by, i., 34. 

Pilgeram and Lefevre, i., 307. 

Pinelli's Outlines from Romati His- 
tory, i., 63. 

Pisa, i., 33. 

Pisa University, i., 25. 

Pistrucci, Benedetto, i., 48. 

Pistrucci, Filippo, i., 48, 50; ii., 16, 

Desigtis from Roman History, 

by, i., 62, 85 ; ii., 16, 18. 
Pitti Gallery, i., 154-5. 
Pius IX., i., 13, 52, 53; ii., 33. 
Placci, Carlo, Dante G. Rossetti, by, 

i., 106. 
Pleasley Hill, ii., 44. 
Plint, Mrs., ii., 167. 
Flint, T. E., i., 205-6-13-4-47; ii-, 

Plutarch, i,, 103 ; ii., 241. 
Poe, Edgar A., i., 76, 89, 100-52. 

For A7inie, by, i., 107. 

Haimtcd Palace, by, i., 107. 

Memorial Volume on, i., 76. 

The Raven, by, i., 107. 

Ulalumc, by, i., 107. 

Polidori, Agostino Ansaldo, i., 24, 25. 

Osteology, poem, by, i., 25. 

Tobias, by, i., 25. 

Polidori, Anna Maria (Pierce), i., 24, 

25, 26, 28, 31, 37. 
Polidori, Charlotte L., i., x., 31, 98, 

148, 400-1 ; ii., 3, 10, II, 34, 46, 

110-30-43, 313-24-6-66-7. 
Polidori, Eliza H., i., 30, 31, 32, 37, 

62, 314, 402 ; ii., 121, 313-24-6-55. 
Polidori, Francesco, i., 25. 

Losario, by, i., 25. 

Polidori, Gaetano, i., x., 24 to 28, 33, 

35- 36, 37, 47, 62, 67, 79, 80, 84, 

85, 408 ; ii., 10, 16, 20, 39, 97, 98, 

100, 1 09- 1 2-4-23-4. 
Dictionary of Italian, etc., by, 

i., 28. 
Gra7)imaire cle la Langue 

Italienne, by, i., 28. 

n hifcdeltd Punita, by, i., 28. 

Life of Boccaccio, by, i., 28. 

Life of General de' Paoli, by 

i., 28. 

Lucan, translation by, i., 28. 

Milton, translation by, i., 28. 

Novelle Morali, by, i., 28. 

Tragedie e Dratnmi, by, i., 28. 

Polidori, Dr. J. W., i., 32. 33, 34, 41. 

Diary, by, i., 34. 

Ernestus Berchtold, by, i., 33. 

Fall of the Angels, by, i., 33. 

The Vampyre, by, i., 33. 

Ximenes, etc., by, i., 33. 

Polidori, Maria Margaret, i., 24, 31, 

32, 37, 220-7, 346; ii., 10, II, 19. 
Polidori, Philip R., i., 31, 37, 346; 

ii., 7, 8, 1 1 1-2. 
Poliziano, ii., 275-6. 
Pollen, J. Hungerford, i., 198. 
Polydore, Henrietta, i., 346 ; ii., 177, 

Polydore, Henry F., i., x., 30, 31, 185 ; 

ii., 5 to 8, 10, 16, 186, 340. 
Polytechnic Institution, i., 39. 
Pompey the Great, ii., 241. 
Pontefract Castle, ii., 363. 
Poole, R. F., ii., 129. 



Pope, Alex., i., 81. 

Pope (servant), ii., 173. 

Porbus, ii., 277-^. 

Porter (family), i., 30, 

Portland Gallery, London, i., 145. 

Portugal, i., 258. 

Potter, Cipriani, i., 42. 

Poynter, Mrs. (Macdonald), i., 209. 

Praeraphaelite Brotherhood, The, i., 

125-7-8, 130 to 137, 1 39-40-1-3-5 1, 

152-7-63-78, 217, 430-7 ; ii., 60, 63, 

Praeraphaelite Exhibition, Russell 

Place, i., 200; ii., 159. 
Prayer-Book, ii., 7. 
Preston, Colonel, i., 76. 
Primrose Hill, i., 38. 
Princess's Theatre, ii., 371. 
Prinsep, Mrs., i., 209. 
Prinsep, Val, i., 198, 232-49-54. 
Procter, Miss, ii., 177. 
Protestant Annual, The, ii., 9. 
Punch, ii., 9. 

Purnell, Thomas, ii., 233-4-6. 
Pusey, Miss, i., 185 ; ii., 142. 
Puss in Boots, i., 162. 
Putney, i., 340. 
Puttenham, Guildford, ii., 282. 


Quarterly Review, i., 306 ; ii., 290. 
Queen Square, Bloomsbury, i., 218 ; 

ii-, 330. 
Queen's Theatre, i., 97 ; ii., 43. 
Quilter, Harry, i., 302. 
Art of Rossetti, by, i., 302, 425. 

R., Dr., ii., 30. 
R., Mr., i., 371-2. 
Rachel, Mademoiselle, i., 39; ii., 70, 

Radclyffe, ii., 219. 
Rae, George, i., 240-7-8, 413-25. 
Ragon's Cours Philosophique, ii., 27. 

Ralston, William, i., 293 ; ii., 241. 
Ramsgate, i., 391. 
Raphael, i., 126 ; ii., 40, 68. 

Cartoojis by, engravings, i., 60. 

Ravenshill, Carlisle, i., 270 ; ii., 202. 

Reach, Angus B., i., 161. 

Read, Mrs., ii., 90, 109. 

Read, T. Buchanan, ii., 90, 109. 

Red House, Upton, i., 202-17. 

Red Lion Square, London, i., 168, 

218; ii., 86. 
Redgrave, Richard, i., 187. 
Reeves, ii., 111-3. 
Regent Street, London, i., 70, 145 ; 

ii., 174, 270, 325. 
Regent's Canal, i., 80. 
Regent's Park, i., 37, 38, 72, 332. 
Rembrandt, i., 75, 109. 
Retzsch, Outlines to Shakespear and 

Goethe, by, i., 58, 59 ; ii., 44. 
Rey baud's y/ro?;?^ Paturot, i., 10 1. 
Reynolds, Mr., ii., 7, 9. 
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, i., 109-57. 
Rhetorical Class-book, The, i,, 69. 
Riadore, G. E., i., 77. 
Ricciardi, Conte Giuseppe, i., 49; 

ii. 248, 379-80. 
Richard H., ii., 363. 
Richardson, Samuel, ii., 390. 
Riches, Mr., ii., 310. 
Richmond, Virginia, i., 76. 
Rintoul, R. S., ii., 92, 93, 94 98, 135, 

Ristori, Madame, ii., 146. 
Robert-Fleury, ii., 61. 
Robertsbridge, ii., 126-39. 
Robinson, G. T., i., 233. 
Robinson {see Darmesteter). 
Robinson Crusoe, i., 60. 
Rochester, ii., 119. 
Rocco, San, ii., 207-11. 
Rod, Professor Edouard, i., 129, 428. 
■ — - Etudes sur le Dix-neuvieme 

Siecle, by, i., 129. 
Roehampton, i., 310-1-4-5; ii., 232. 



Rolandi, i., 49. 

Rome, i., 7,40, 215-86; ii., 21, 51, 
161, 302. 

Ronna, ii., 63, 81. 

Roscoe, ii., 280. 

Rose, J. Anderson, i., 211-39-47-56 ; 
ii., 170-1. 

Rosmunda, ii., 146. 

Rossetti, Andrea, i., 5. 

Rossetti, Antonio, i., 5. 

Rossetti, Antonio (Maitre de 
Chapelle), ii., 188. 

Rossetti Bungalow (Westcliff), i., 
388-90-4, 400. 

Rossetti, Christina G., i., xii., 7, 10, 
19, 20, 23, 24, 36, 39, 41, 57, 58, 
78, 80, 1 19-30-8-43-60-8-73-8, 224, 
227-41-5-5 1, 314-6-40-2-6-60-8-88, 
391-2, 394 to 397, 399. 400 to 403 ; 
ii., 16, 18, 32, 39, 40, 41, 43, 46, 53, 
81,99, 101-2-6-7-13-25-38-9, 161 to 
165, 167-71-7-9-83-5-6-98, 200-1-6, 
2 1 1 -8-9-24- 8-30- 1 -2-5-43-5-5 1 -2-5 , 
258-9-61-3-4-6-9-82-5-94-7, 300-4, 
3 1 3-20- 1 -4-6-33-7-8-4 1 -2-7-50-3 - 8 , 

Amor Mundi, by, ii., 323. 

Anmis Domini, by, ii., 307-8. 

At Home, by, ii., 164. 

Ballad {A) of Boding, by, ii., 


Behold, a Shaking, by, ii.. 


— Birthday, A, by, ii., 184. 

— Chinaman, The, by, i., 79. 

— Comtnonplace and Other 
Stories, by, ii., 1 11-83, 223, 383-4. 

— Confluents, by, ii., 323. 

— Cottage near Styx, by, ii., 99. 

— Dream, The, by, i., 99. 

— Dream,land, by, i., 152. 

— End {All), by, i., 152. 
— ■ Folio Q, by, ii., 161-2-3. 

— Franco-German War, Poems 

Rossetti, Christina G., Goblin 
Market, etc., by, i., 214; ii,, 161-2, 

165. 355- 
Hero, by, ii., 183-4. 

House of D. G. Rossetti, by, 

i., 234. 

Keats, Sonnet on, by, ii., 63. 

L. E. L., by, ii., 198. 

Lady Isabella, by, i., 99. 

Lowest Room, The, by, ii., 323. 

Maiden-Song, by, ii., 197. 

Monna Innominata, by, ii., 


— Nick, by, ii., 11 1-3. 

— "No Tha7ik you, John," by, ii., 

— P.R.B., The, by, i., 138. 

— Pageant {A), etc., by, ii., 381, 


— Poems {Collected'), by, ii., 321, 


— Prince's Progress, etc., by, ii.. 

185-6, 359. 
— Queen of Hearts, by, ii., 322, 

on, by, ii., 323. 


— Retribution, by, i., 86. 

— Royal Princess, A, by, ii., 323. 

— Rtiined Cross, The, by, i., 99 ; 
ii., 96. 

— Seek and Find, by, ii., 353. 

— Singsong, by, ii., 240-1. 

— Sleep at Sea, by, ii., 386. 

: — Something like Truth, by, ii., 

— Speaking Likenesses, by, ii., 


— Summer Evening, by, ii., 118. 

— Tasso and Leonora, by, i., 99. 
To my Mother, Verses, by, i.. 


Triad, A, by, ii., 185. 
Under the Rose, by, ii., 321. 
Up-hill, by, ii., 162-4. 
Vanity-fair, by, ii., 52, 53. 
Venus {Sonnet), by, ii., 323. 



Rossetti, Christina G., Verses, 1847, 

by, i., 26, 99; ii., 16, 33, 321. 
Rossetti, Dante Gabriel : — 
Paintings etc. 

Annunciation, The {see Ecce 

Ancilla Domini). 
Annunciation, The, Scar- 
borough, i., 214-20. 
Annunciation, The (or Mary 

Nazarene), Water-colour, i., 

173, 200. 
Aspecta Medusa, i., 239-41. 
Astarte Syriaca [see Venus 

Aurea Catena, i., 239-44. 
Aurelia, or Fazio's Mistress, 

i., 238-41. 
Beata Beatrix, i., 238-47-62-82, 

284, 317-26-38-63, 429; ii., 

187-8, 237-8-46-53-6-7-63-4, 

Beatrice and Dante at Marriage- 
feast, i., 158-73-9; ii., 86, 87, 

Belcolore {see Monna Vanna). 
Bella Mano, La, i., 240-2, 363, 

364; ii., 318. 
Belle Dame sans Merci, i., 120. 
Bellebuona {see Ramoscello). 
Beloved, The, or The Bride, i., 

238-40-2, 326, 424-5 ; ii., 184. 
Bionda (La) del Balcone, i., 

239; ii., 203. 
Blessed Damozel, i., 242, 326, 

362; ii., 331-5-52-69. 
Blue Bower, i., 239-40-1 ; ii., 

Blue Closet, i., 187-92, 200; ii., 

Boat of Love, i., 239-40, 373 ; ii., 

Bocca Baciata, i., 202-3-41 ; ii., 

Bonifazio's Mistress, i., 187. 
Bovver-garden, i., 213. 

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel : — 
Paintings etc. {continued^. 

Bower-maiden, or Fleurs de 

Marie, i., 243, 326 ; ii., 304. 
Bower-meadow, i., 158, 307 ; 

ii., 85. 
Bride, The {see Beloved). 
Brown (Madox), Head of, i., 

Browning, Portrait of, i., 187, 
Bruna Brunelleschi, i., 364-7. 
Burd Alane, i., 213. 
Carlisle Tower, or The Lovers, 

i., 213. 
Cassandra, i., 214; ii,, 174. 
Chapel (The) before the Lists, 

i., 187. 
Christina Rossetti's Goblin 

Market, Designs, i., 214; ii., 

1 6 5-6-7 1, 
Prince's Progress, Designs, 

i., 239; ii., 185. 

Verses, Designs, i., 99. 

Christmas Carol, Water-colour, 

i., 202 ; ii., 153. 
Dante, Head of, i., 372. 
Dante and Beatrice, Purgatorio, 

i., 159. 
Dante drawing an Angel, Pen- 
and-ink, i., 158. 
Water-colour, i., 179, 200; 

ii., 86, 87, 89, 97, 105-7-9-12, 

1 15-7-27-8-45. 
Dante's Dream, Oil, i., 222-42-35, 

282-3-4, 321-6-62-3-70-72-3-5 ; 

ii., 224-5-3 1 -72-4-8 1 -7-96, 343. 

350-1-3-5-79, 382 to 385, 388, 

Water-colour, i., 187-9, 

200-22-41-2 ; ii., 144. 
Dantis Amor, i., 214. 
Daydream, The, i., 245, 364-5 ; 

ii., 260, 357-8-62-3. 
Death of Lady Macbeth, i., 282. 
Death of Marmion, ii., 15, 42. 



Rossetti, Dante Gabriel : — 
Paintings etc. {continued). 
Death of Virginia, ii., i8. 
Desdemona's Death-song, i., 

Deserted Village, Design, ii., 

Dr. Johnson and the Methodist 

Ladies, i., 207-13-40. 
Domizia Scaligera, i., 243. 
Donna (La) della Fiamma, i., 

Donna (La) della Finestra, i., 

245. 364-83; ii-, 352-83-5. 

Ecce Ancilla Domini, i., 122-58, 
160 to 163, 166-8-73, 241, 
430 ; ii., 46, 86, 91, 93, 94, 99, 
1 14-5, 308-10-1. 

Fair Rosamund, i., 214. 

Fazio's Mistress {see Aurelia). 

Fiammetta, i., 285. 

Fiammetta, A Vision of, i., 243, 
285, 364; ii., 344-5-8-51-3. 

Fleurs de Marie {see Bovver- 

Found, i., 159-64-5, 241, 373; 
ii., 104-5-11-2-31-2-3-5-53-7, 
158-66-7, 368-9-71. 

Fra Pace, or The Monk, ii., 144, 

Galahad, Sir, ii., 153. 

Genevieve, ii., 42. 

Ghirlandata, La, i., 242, 325-6; 

ii., 296-7-9, 305. 
Giotto painting Dante, i., 159, 

Girl at a Lattice, i., 228. 
Greensleeves, i., 413-4. 
Gretchen in Church, i., 120-1. 
Hake, Dr., Portrait of, i., 282-5, 

Hake, George, Portrait of, i., 

Hamlet and Ophelia, i., 202, 


Rossetti, Dante Gabriel : — 
Paintings etc. {continued'). 

Heart of the Night, or Mariana, 

i., 239-40. 
Helen of Troy, i., 238-42 ; ii., 

Hesterna Rosa, i., 158, 200. 
House (The) of John, i., 188, 

202 ; ii., 105-49. 
How They Met Themselves, i., 

159, 207. 
Hunt, Holman, Portrait of, i., 

IHad, Designs to, i., 8r. 
Joan of Arc, i., 238-41, 383-91 ; 

ii., 394. 
Kate the Queen, i., 158, 285; 

ii., 42, 46, 82, 83, 84, 86, 88, 


Laboratory, The, i., 158. 

Lady Anne Bothvvell's Lament, 
i., 98. 

Lamp of Memory {see Mnemo- 

Launcelot and Guenevere at 
Arthur's Tomb, i., 187. 

Leathart, Mrs., Portrait of, ii., 

Leyland, Portrait of, i., 364. 

Ligeia Siren, i., 326. 

Lilith, i., 239 to 242; ii., 187-8, 

Lithographs, i., 98. 

Lovers, The {see Carlisle 

Loving-cup, The, i., 239-41. 

Lucrezia Borgia, i., 214. 

Madonna Pietra, ii., 306. 

Magdalene at door of Simon, 
i., 159-63-83, 200-14-42; ii., 
105-48-9-50-2-66, 287. 

Maids of Elfin Mere, ii., 87. 

Mariana, Oil, i., 245-82-4. 

Mariana {see Heart of the Night). 

Mary Virgin, The Girlhood of, i., 
130, 142 to 145, 147-8-60-73, 



Rossetti, Dante Gabriel : — 
Paintings etc. {contitiued ). 

241 ; ii., 39, 45, 46, 47, 93, 

94, 1 14-6-48-9-68-74-S-87-9. 
Michael Scott's Wooing, i., 

Minotti (Siege of Corinth), ii., 

16, 18. 
Mnemosyne, or The Lamp of 

Memory, i., 245, 363; ii., 

Monk, The {see Fra Pace). 
Monna Pomona, i., 239-40-2. 
Monna Vanna, or Belcolore, i., 

239-42; ii., 187-8. 
Morris, Miss May, Portrait of, 

ii., 265. 
Morris, Mrs., Oil Portrait of, i., 


Drawings of, ii., 260. 

Mount-Temple, Lady, Portrait 

of, ii., 335. 
Much Ado about Nothing, ii., 

83, 84. 
Nativity, The, i., 183; ii., 140. 
Ophelia, First Madness of, i., 

Orlando and Adam, ii., 18. 

Orpheus and Eurydice, i., 239. 
Pandora, i., 245-69-82 ; ii., 260. 
Paolo and Francesca, i., 187-8, 

Parting of Lovers, ii., 18. 
Passover in the Holy Family, 

i., 183-7-8, 403; ii., 140. 
Penelope, i., 282-5. 
Perlascura, i., 364. 
Pia, La, i., 239-40-4, 362; ii., 


Pietrocola-Rossetti, Head of, 

ii., 98. 
Polidori, Charlotte, ii., 112-5-7. 
Polidori, Eliza, i., 187 ; ii., 143-4. 
Polidori, Gaetano, i., 123. 

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel : — 
Paintings etc. 

Proserpina, i., 245-85, 325-53, 
367-83-91, 424; ii., 265-78, 
289, 305-32-48-89-90-4. 
Queen Guenevere, i., 202. 
Ramoscello, II, or Bellebuona, 

i., 239-40-2. 
Regina Cordium (Miss Wild- 
ing), i., 242. 

(Mrs. D. G. Rossetti), i., 


(Mrs. Heaton), ii., 169. 

Retro me Sathana, i., 99. 

Reverie, i., 244. 

Roman Widow, The, i., 242-3, 

326-30; ii., 305-7-8-11. 
Rosa Triplex, i., 239-42, 429. 
Rose-garden, The, i., 216. 
Rossetti Family-Portraits. 

Christina, Crayon and Oil, 
i., 99, 142, 239, 341 ; ii., 

Dante Gabriel, i., 187-8. 
Elizabeth (Siddal), i., 209-10, 

Frances, Crayon and Oil, i., 

228-39, 341 ; ii-, 185-6, 345, 

Gabriele, Oil and Pencil, i., 

144, 391-2; ii., 99, 100-3, 

168, 291-3, 393-4. 
Lucy (Brown), i., 326; ii., 

Paititings etc. 

Rossovestita, i., 173-9. 

Ruskin, Head of, i., 214. 

St. George and Princess Sabra, 

or St. George and the Dragon, 

i., 221-41. 
St. Katharine, i., 183. 
Salutatio Beatricis, i., 202. 
Salutation of Beatrice, i., 245, 

383; ii., 371-7. 
Sancta Lilias, i., 364. 



Rossetti, Dante Gabriel : — 
Paintings etc. {continued). 

Scott, W. B., Portrait of, i., 

Sea-spell, The, i., 242, 363-4. 
Seed of David, The, Oil, i., 

191-2, 202-5-44-75; ii., 149, 


Water-colour, i., 188. 

Sibylla Palmifera, i., 239-40-2. 
Silence, i., 282-5 ; ii., 254. 
Socrates taught to dance by 

Aspasia, i., 239-40. 
Sonnet, The, Pen-and-ink, i., 

Sphinx, The, i., 364-5-6. 
Spirit (The) of the Rainbow, 

i-, 364. 
Stained-glass Designs, i., 220. 
Swinburne, Portrait of, i., 214. 
Tennyson, Designs to, i., 187, 

1S9-90, 200-40; ii., 145. 
Tennyson Reading Maud, i., 

Tibullus and Delia, i., 239-40-7 ; 

ii., 91. 
Tristram and Yseult, i., 239, 

Tune (The) of Seven Towers, 

i., 187-92. 
Union Hall, Oxford, Pictures 

in, i., 198 ; ii., 146. 
Venus Astarte, i., 245, 350, 

363-4; ii., 3 1 8-9-24-3 1-7-S, 

34 1 -3- 
Venus Verticordia, i., 239-43-7, 

261 ; ii., 176-7-8. 
Veronica Veronese, i., 242-82, 

284, 326-64. 
Washing Hands, i., 239-40. 
Water-colour (First) i., 119. 
Water-willow, i., 245-82-92 ; ii., 

238, 348. 
Watts, Theodore, Portrait of, 
i., 285, 326. 

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel : — 
Paintiftgs etc. {continued'). 

Wedding of St. George, i., 187, 

192-3, 213. 
Zambaco, Mrs., Portrait of, ii., 

Aladdin, i,, 66. 
Arme Heinrich, or Henry the 

Leper, i., 104. 
Aspecta Medusa, i., 250. 
Astarte Syriaca, i,, 435. 
Autopsychology, An {see St. 

Agnes of Intercession). 
Autumn Idleness, ii., 216. 
Ave, i., 107-14; ii., 204-7-8, 

Ballads and Sonnets, i., 327-70, 

373-4-83-93; ii-, 63, 205-45, 
379-80-4, 389 to 392. 

Bastille, Place de la, ii., 63. 

Beauty and the Bird, ii., 204. 

Blake, Sonnet, ii., 361-2. 

— — Writings in Gilchrist's 
Life of, i., no, 250, 362; ii., 

103, 314. 
Blessed Damozel, i., 107-13-23, 

155-6-97, 406-37-8-40; ii., 38, 

Body's Beauty, i., 240-71. 

Boulogne Cliffs, ii., 55, 57. 

Bouts-rimes Sonnets, i., 92. 

Bride's Prelude, or Bride- 
chamber Talk, i., 107-14-55, 
166,286,374,435; ii., 51, 64, 

Buchanan, Ballad on, i., 293. 

Burger's Lenore, Translation, i., 

Bullfinch, The {see Beauty and 
the Bird). 

Card-dealer, The, ii., 214-7. 

Carillon, The, i., 156. 

Cassandra, ii., 217-8. 

Chatterton, ii., 362. 



Rossetti, Dante Gabriel : — 
lV7'ttings (continued). 
Choice, The, i., 108 ; ii., 204-7, 

Cleopatra's Needle, ii., 376. 
Cloud-confines, i., 293, 422-34 ; 

ii., 245-6-7. 
Collected Works, i., 104-8-55, 

250-99, 409; ii., 34, 55, 90, 

93. 103. 214-90. 
Commandments {see Soothsay). 
Cyprus, Sonnet on, i., 368. 
Dante and his Circle, or Early 

Italian Poets, i., 64, 92, 105, 

106-23, 214 to 217, 222-5-91, 

326-34, 421 ; ii., 92, 161, 228, 

272-4-84-7-90, 300. 
Dante at Verona, i., 107-63-6, 

Dante's Vita Nuova, Transla- 
tion, ii., 92, 161-3-4. 
Dark Day, A, ii., 216. 
Daydream, The, ii., 358. 
Dennis Shand, i., 166. 
Down Stream, or The River's 

Record, i., 293 ; ii., 239-40, 

Early Italian Poets (see Dante 

and his Circle). 
Ebenezer Jones, Notes on, i., 

Eden Bower, i., 271-96, 435 ; 

ii., 214-20. 
English Revolution of 1848, i., 

Even So, i., 436. 
Exhibition of Sketches, Notice 

of, ii., 93. 
Fall (The) of the Leaf, ii., 43, 44. 
Fiammetta, i., 435. 
Fortnightly Review, Sonnets in, 

ii., 200. 
Found, i., 368, 435. 
Free Companions, The (see 
Roderick and Rosalba). 

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel : — 
Writings (contifitted). 
French Liberation of Italy, ii., 

From the Cliffs, Noon, i., 

Giorgione's Venetian Pastoral, 

ii., 63, 207-10-1. 
Hake's Parables and Tales, 

Review, ii., 280-3-6. 
Hand and Soul, i., 15 1-2-4-5, 

293, 415; ii- 54. 207. 
Henry the Leper {see Arme 

Hill-Summit, The, ii., 218. 
House of Life, The, i., 144, 293, 

296-7. 373-81. 433-8-40; ii., 

Husbandman, The, i., 144. 
Ingres's Ruggiero and Angelica, 

ii., 71, 72, 80, 219. 
Jan van Hunks, i., 108, 369-92. 
Jenny, i., 107-66, 274-8, 435, 

438-9; ii., 227-49-50, 382-4. 
King's Tragedy, The, i., 327-68, 

369-73, 432-4; ii-, 198, 371, 

Known in Vain, i., 167. 
Last Confession, i., 107-66, 

296, 435-9; ii- 204-6-1 1-4, 

217, 383-4- 
Leonardo da Vinci's Our Lady 

of the Rocks, ii., 207-10. 
Lichfield House Exhibition, 

Notice of, ii., 93. 
Love-lily, ii., 212. 
Love's Nocturn, i., 203 ; ii., 

MacCracken, ii., 119-22. 
Magdalen at door of Simon, i., 

435; ii- 217. 
Mary (To) in Summer, ii., 204, 

Mary Virgin, The Girlhood of, 

i., 143-8 ; ii., 45, 216, 



Rossetti, Dante Gabriel : — 
Writings {continued^ 
Match (A) with the Moon, ii., 

Michelangelo's Holy Family, ii., 

Morris, Mrs., Latin Distych on 

Portrait, i., 250. 
My Sister's Sleep, i., 107-11-13, 

i52;ii., 37. 38, 39> 51. 206-11, 

2 1 2-4. 
New Year's Burden, ii., 210. 
Newborn Death, i., 250. 
Nibelungenlied, Translation, i., 

Nineveh, The Burden of, i., 166, 

197, 406-38 ; ii., 207-8-9-13. 
Nonsense Verses, i., 327. 
Not as These, i., 144. 
Old and New Art, i., 144. 
Oliver Madox Brown, ii., 315, 

Orchard-pit, The, i., 271 ; ii., 

Pandora, i., 435. 
Paris, Sonnets in, ii., 71, 73. 
Parted Love, ii., 216. 
Passover in the Holy Family, 

ii., 217. 
Pax Vobis, i., 156. 
Penumbra, ii., 216. 
Plighted Promise, ii., 207. 
Poe's Ulalume, Parody, i., 


Poems, 1870 and 1881, i., 216, 

263-75-82-5-6-8-9-91-6-7, 300, 

334-5-55-70-3-4, 431-2-8; ii., 

63,71, 205-22-3-5-6-7-45, 311, 

Poole, R. F., Notice of, ii., 90. 
Portrait, The, i., 107, 297 ; ii., 

55, 293. 
Proserpina, i., 325-6; ii., 265-6. 
Refusal of Aid between Nations, 

i., 421 ; ii., 205. 

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel : — 
Writings {cofititmed). 
Retro me Sathana, i., 107 ; ii., 

River's Record, The {see Down 

Roderick and Rosalba, or The 

Free Companions, i., 83, 86. 
Rose Mary, i., 293, 373, 435; 

ii., 246-7-8. 
St. Agnes of Intercession, or An 

Autopsychology, i., 155, 395. 
St. Luke the Painter, i., 144. 
Sibylla Palmifera (see Soul's 

Sir Hugh the Heron, i., 26, 84, 

85, 96; ii., 20, 21. 
Sister Helen, i., 166-7, 278-96, 

420-35-8; ii., 118, 205-13-6. 
Slave, The, i., 65, 66. 
Song and Music, ii., 205-13. 
Song of the Bower, i., 203. 
Song-throe, i., 368, 416. 
Songs of the Art Catholic, i., 

1 13-4- 
Sonnet, The, i., 364 ; ii., 357-8. 
Sonnets (six) for Pictures, i., 

156, 430. 
Soothsay, or Commandments, 

i., 293, 382, 418-38; ii., 366. 
Sorrentino, i., 103; ii., 18, 19. 
Soul's Beauty, i., 240-71 ; ii., 

Sphinx, The, i., 369-92-3. 
Spring, ii., 292, 309. 
Staff (The) and Scrip, i., 166, 

197, 406; ii., 49, 51, 205. 
Stealthy School of Criticism, 

The, i., 298-9, 300-5. 
Stratton Water, i., 166, 368, 434; 

ii., 205-13-4. 
Stream's Secret, The, i., 271 ; 

ii., 214-7-23. 
Sunset Wings, i., 293; ii., 241, 




Rossetti, Dante Gabriel : — 
Writings (continued ). 
TroyTown,i., 271,435 ; ii.,219. 
True Woman, i., 369 ; ii., 386, 

Venus Verticordia, i., 250-71 ; 

ii., 207-1 1-6. 
Waterloo, Road to, ii., 78, 80. 
Wellington's Funeral, i., 166. 
White Ship, The, i., 327-57-68, 
369-73, 434; ii-. 357-8-66-71, 
WilHam and Marie, i., 85. 
Willow-wood, i., 250 ; ii., 200. 
Winter, i., 326 ; ii., 305-9. 
Woodspurge, The, i., 401. 
Woolner, Sonnet to, i., 165. 
Rossetti, Domenico, i., 5. 
Rossetti, Elizabeth Eleanor (Siddal), 
1., 136, 170 to 178, 180, 183 to 186, 
188, 201-3-4, 206 to 210, 212-3, 
215, 220 to 226, 239-41-4-55-65, 
273-4-5-84, 303; ii., 95, 104, 125 
to 131, 135 to 139, 141-2-3-7, 153 to 
161, 165-9, 237-88. 

Lady Clare, by, i., 175. 

Pippa and Women of Loose 

Life, by, i., 175. 

Portrait of Herself, i., 175. 

St. Agnes' Eve, by, i., 175. 

Sir Patrick Spens, by, i., 


We are Seven, by, i., 175. 

Year {A) and a Day, by, 

i., 176. 

Rossetti, Frances M. L., i., x., 3, 9, 10, 
12, 17, 20, 24, 29, 36, 37, 38, 40, 41, 
47. 50. 54, 57, 58; 63, 99, 143-68, 
224-6-7, 3 1 3-4-5-40-6-60-88-9 1 -g, 
400 to 403 ; ii., 5, 10, 12, 32, 37, 39, 
45, 84, 87, 88, 96, 97, 99, 1 1 1-9, 
162-5-70-7-96, 227-31-43-5-69-82, 

285-7-9-93-4. 3 1 3-6-24-6-33-4 1 -2, 
: Diary, by, i., 394-6, 400. 

Rossetti, Frances M. L., Lines, by, 

i., 24. 
Rossetti, G. Arthur, ii., 356-73-92-3, 

Rossetti, Gabriele, i.,x.,3t02i,35,36, 
38, 40, 41, 44, 46 to 49, 52, 53, 54, 
57, 58, 63 to 66, 70, 71, 87, 103, 
167-8-80, 224-66, 378, 405-8 ; ii., 
3, 5, 10, II, 12, 16, 17, 19, 25, 29, 
70, 92, 99, 1 02-6-7-9- 1 3-7-40- 1, 
168-87, 229-36-45-48-80-91-3, 327, 


Arpa Ev angelica, by, i., 13, 

16; ii., 108-1 3-4-22-3. 

Antobiography in Verse, i.. 


— Beatrice {La) di Dante, by, i., 
16; ii., 21. 

— Canto Marziale, by, ii., 24, 

27, 29. 

— Dante, Coincjtto, i., 15. 

— Giulio Sabino, by, i., 7. 

— Iddio e I'Uomo, by, i., 15; ii., 
27, 29. 

— Mistero dell' Amor Platonico, 

by, i., 15. 16. 

— Naples Museum, Catalogue, 
by, i., 15. 

— Sei pur bella, by, i., 7. 

— Spirito Antipapale, by, i., 15. 

— Veggente in Solitudinc, by, i., 

16 ; ii., 291. 

Versi, by, i., 16. 

Rossetti Gallery, Bond St., i., 400. 

Rossetti, LucyMadox (Brown), i., x., 
328-37-46-59-98, 400-1-3 ; ii., 269, 
292-3-4-8-9, 303-5-7-8-10, 313 to 

Rossetti Mansions, Chelsea, i., 388 ; 

ii-, 383. 
Rossetti, Maria F., i., 15, 23, 24, 36, 

37, 41. 54. 55, 57. 58, 80, 81, 87, 
168, 224-7, 313-45-6; ii., 4, 5. 7, 
II, 18, 24, 27, 30, 32, 33, 99, lOI, 



1 09- 1 1 -3-9-2 1 -30-9-77-80, 205-6, 
2 I9-30-2-8-43-64-9I-5-6-7, 300-5, 

Rossetti, Maria F., Rivulets, The, 

by, ii., 16, 18. 

Romance of i^th Century, by, 

i., 86. 
Shadow of Dante, by, i., 346 ; 

ii., 230-1-6-8-68-87, 335. 
Rossetti, Maria F. (Pietrocola), i., 4, 


Rossetti, Mary, ii., 379. 

Rossetti, Michael, i., 346 ; ii., 379. 

Rossetti, Miss (Vocalist), ii., 239, 

Rossetti, Nicola, i., 4, 5, 35. 

Rossetti, Olivia, i., 337 ; ii., 320-5-6, 

Rossetti Road, Birchington, i., 388. 

Rossetti, Vincenzo, i., 35. 

Rossetti, William Michael, i., ix., x., 
70, 71, 100-9-11-7-25-30-1-2, 136 
to 140, 149-60-8-90, 204-9-15-24, 
225-7-8-56-60-94-8, 307-10-3-20, 
321-8-38-41-4-56-9-61-74-9, 395 to 
399. 40 1 -2-3- 1 1 -23-3 1 ; ii., 7, 10, 
II, 18,22, 31, 39, 40, 41, 43, 44, 
54, 87, 90, 97, 102-7-1 8-20-45-64, 
168 to 171, 178-9-83-99, 203-6-30, 
243-9-5 1-63-84-92-7, 305-8-14-23, 
341-2, 352 to 355, 358, 366 to 369, 


American Poems, Selected 

by, ii., 232. 

Blake, Editio7i and Memoir, 

by, ii., 300-1-14. 

Clough's Bothie, Review of, i., 


— D. G. Rossetti and his Works, 
Notes on, by, i., 241. 

— D. G. Rossetti as Designer and 

Writer, by, i., 149. 

— Dante's Hell, translated by, ii., 

— Death, Sonnets on, by, ii., 52, 53. 

Rossetti, William Michael, Demo^ 
cratic Sonnets, by, ii., 369 to 379. 

Diary of, i,, 254-68-77, 307, 

310-84-6-96, 420. 

Gilchrisfs Life of Blake, Cata- 
logue, by, ii., 359. 

Gertn, The, Sonnet on Wrap- 
per, by, i., 152. 

Her Fii'st Season, Sonnet by, 

i., 152; ii., 52, 53. 

Htwiorous Poems, Selected 

by, ii., 273. 

Keats, Son7tets on, ii., 63. 

Lives of Famous Poets, by, 

ii., 348-9-83. 

Mis. Hobftes Grey, by, ii., 49, 

53, 62 to 66. 

P.R.B. Dia?y, by, i., 136-7-40, 

141-9-51; ii-, 220, 383. 

Polidori {Dr.), Lecture on, \., 


Raimond and Matilda, by, 

i., 86 

Ruskin's Praraphaelitisiti, 

Notice by, ii., 94 

— Shelley, Edited by, i., 295 ; ii., 
222-3, 348-82. 

— Shelley s Heart, Sonnet by, ii., 

Swinburne's Poons and Bal- 

lads, a Criticism, by, i., 295. 
— Transvaal, Sonnet by, ii., 371, 


Ulfred the Saxon, by, ii., 16, 

Wives of Poets, Lectures by, 

i., 421 ; ii., 355-6. 
Rossi, ii., 168. 
Rossini, i., 7. 

Rosso, Professor F. di, i., 17. 
Rovedino, i., 45 ; ii., 4. 
Royal Academy, i., 93, 94, 96, 

97, 1 1 5-6-25-37-45-6-5 1-60-3, 204, 

221, 349, 400-23; ii., 12, 17, 88, 

90, 109-28-93, 281, 



Royal Academy of Music, i., 44. 

Royal College of Surgeons, i., 221. 

Royal Scottish Academy, i., 424. 

Rubens, i., 109; ii., 71, 80, 281. 

Sto7'y of Achilles y by, i., 60. 

Ruffini, i., 54. 

Rugby School, i., 151, 351. 

Ruhl, i., 59. 

RulH, i., 51, 52. 

Ruskin, John, i., 35, 125-35-58, 178 to 
186, 194-5-7, 205-9-10-5-6-24-36, 
347-58, 260 to 263, 323, 425-7 ; ii., 
122-7-8-30-2, 134 to 137, 139-40-2, 
151-7, 161 to 165, 167, 330. 

Lectures, by, ii., 130-1. 

Modern Painters, by, i., 135; 

ii., 139- 
Prceraphaelitism, by, i., 179; 

11-, 92, 93, 94. 
— Royal Acadeviy Notes, by, ii. 


Titne and Tide, by, ii., 361. 
Ruskin, John J., i., 178-84. 
Russell Place, Fitzroy Sq., i., 200. 

Sabloniere Hotel, i., 221-3. 
Sadler's Wells Theatre, i., 97. 
Saffi, AureHo, i., 54, 215 ; ii., 161-2. 
Sagen und Mcihrchen, i., 87. 
St. Andrew's, i., 318; ii., 256. 
St. Elme, Ida, i., 49. 

Memoires d'une Conteni- 

poraine, by, i., 49. 
St. Germain, P., ii., 29. 
St. Germain des Pres, Paris, ii., 62. 
St. Giles's, London, i., 70; ii., 7. 
St. James's Church, London, i., 30. 
St. John's Vale, Keswick, i., 376-7 ; 

ii-, 354-87. 
St. Katherine's Church, London, i., 

St. Martin's-on-the-Hill (Church), 

Scarborough, i., 214-20. 
St. Martin's School, ii., 140. 

Sala, G. A., i., 195. 

Salle Valentino, Paris, ii., 63, 69. 

Sallust, i., 71. 

Salvini, i., 170, 409. 

Samson, i., 292; ii., 234. 

Samuelson, Alderman, i., 371-2 ; ii., 

San Carlo Theatre, i., 7. 
San Remo, i., 30. 
Sanatorium, Harley Street, ii., 129, 

Sand, i., 8. 
Sand, George, ii., 28. 

Horace, by, ii., 28. 

Sandrock (family), i., 30. 

Sandys, F. A., i., 210-42-56; ii., 183, 

Clabburn, Portrait of Mr., by, 

ii., 187. 

Medea, by, ii,, 193. 

Sir Ismnbras, by, i., 210. 

Sangiovanni, Benedetto, i., 48, 50, 

51, 80; ii., 10, II, 25, 109-10. 
Sangiovanni, Guglielmo, i., 50. 

Sangiovanni, Mrs., i., 50. 

Santa Croce Church, Florence, i., 
17 ; ii., 236. 

Sarrazin, Gabriel, i., 439. 

Sarti, i., 48. 

Sartorio, G. A., i., 429. 

Sass's Academy, i., 88. 

Saturday Review, The, ii., 394. 

Saunders, ii., 146. 

Savile Row, London, i., 314-40. 

Savonarola, i., 148. 

Scalands, Robertsbridge, i., 271-86; 
ii., 126-8. 

Scheffer, Ary, ii., 61, 62. 

Schiller, i., 87. 

Fridolin, by, i., 59. 

Schnorr, i., 135. 

Schools of Design, i., 171 ; ii., 104. 

Schopenhauer, i., 282. 

Science and Art, Department of, ii., 



Scott, David, ii., 102-3-4-69-709. 

Scott, Mrs., i., 259 ; ii., 92. 

Scott, Sir Walter, i., 59, 81, 85, 103, 

421; ii., 9. 
Cavalier {The), by, ii., 4, 


Fai'r Maid of Perth, by, i., 


Guy Mannering, by, i., 60. 

Ivanhoe, by, i., 60. 

■ Kenilworth, by, i., 60. 

Lady of the Lake, by, i., 59, 

60; ii., 4. 
Lay of the Last Minstrel, by, 

i-, 59- 
Loi'd of the Lsles, by, i., 59. 

Marmion, by, i., 59. 

Peveril of the Peak, by, ii., 


Pirate, The, by, ii., g. 
Oiientin Durward, by, i., 

— Rokeby, by, i., 59. 

— St. Ronaiis Well, by, i., 60 ; 
ii., 241. 

— Waverley Novels, by, ii., 7, 

Scott, William Bell, i., 18, 19, 60, 
1 10-3-4-5-43-65-6-72-90-4-8, 202, 
203-8-22-5 5-9-66-7-8-70 - 1 - 3 - 8 - 9, 
280-3-92-7-8, 307-1 5-7-20-1, 327 to 
388-9, 402-13-7-8-22; ii., 54, 92, 
100, loi to 105, 1 10-30-52-70-96-7, 
199, 200-5-9-1 1 -6-9-2 1 -8-47-66-7, ■ 
280-92, 355-9-62-3-4. 

Autobiographical Notes, by, 

i., 18, 1 1 1-8-64-74-99, 201-67-8, 
270-2-7, 307-12-7-20-7-9-3 1-3-5, 
347-8-65-78, 402 ; ii., 247. 

Dreatn of Love, by, i,, 112. 

Hades, by, i., 112. 

King's Quair, Pictures and 

Scott, William Bell, Life of Durer, 

by, ii., 218, 
Mary Anne (or Rosabell), by, 

i., 1 1 2-3-34-64-5; ii., 103-4-5. 

Sphinx, To the, by, i., 366. 

Year of the World, by, i., 1 1 2, 

113, 365-6. 
Scottish Ballads, i., 85, 100 ; ii., 32. 
Scribe's Adrienne Lecoiwreur, ii., 70. 
Scutari, i., 32. 

Sebastiano del Piombo, ii., 283. 
Seddon, John P., i., 191, 274, 329, 

361-88-90-4, 401-3; "■, 152-3, 391- 
Seddon, Major, i., 394. 
Seddon, Thomas, i., 191-2-4, 200 ; 

ii., 54, 55, 120-46-7. 
Jerusalem, picture by, i., 191 ; 

ii., 147. 
Selous, ii., 14. 
Selsey Bay, Sussex, i., 337. 
Seve7t Champions of Christendom, 

i., 82. 
Sevenoaks, i., 158, 307; ii., 85. 
Severn (River), ii., 141. 
Severn, Joseph, i., 88. 
Edward /. and Eleanor, by, 

ii., 13. 
Shakespear, i., 60, 65, 75, 81, 85, 97, 

102-3-41-70, 282, 415-9-34; ii-, 12, 

42, 95, 96, 106, 241. 
Hamlet, by, i., 58, 60, 418-35 ; 

ii., 213-4-49. 

Henry LV., by, i., 59, 67. 

Henry VL, by, i., 59, 67. 

Jtilius CcEsar, by, i., 67, 70 ; ii., 


Illustrations, by, i., 335 ; ii., 197, 

— Macbeth, by, i., 59, 67 ; ii., 209. 

— Meixhant of Venice, by, i., 59. 

— Merry Wives of Windsor, by, 
ii., 9. 

— Midsitvmier Nights Dream, 

by, i., 59. 

— Othello, by, i., 80. 

— Richard in., by, i., 59, 67. 

— Rojneo and Jtiliet, by, i., 59. 


43 1 

Shakespear, Sonnets, by, i., 417. 

Tempest, The, by, i., 59. 

Sharp, William, i., 135-46, 228-71, 


Dante G. Rossetti, A Record, 

by, i., 155, 413; »v 357- 
Shelley, Harriet, ii., 239. 
Shelley, John, i., 20. 
Shelley, Mary W., i., 33. 
Shelley, Percy B., i., 8, 20, 33, 34, 75, 

100, 275-91, 415; it., 19, 53, 200, 

239. 322-4-82. 
Lechlade Churchyard, by, ii., 


Peter Bell the Third, by, i.. 


Prometheus Unbouiid, by, i., 

Shelley Society, The, i., 34. 
Shenton, i., 155. 
Sheridan's Pizarro, i., 67. 
Sherwood, Mrs., The Fairchild 

Family, by, i., 61. 
Shields, Frederick J., i., 63, 246-7, 

266-73-80-91, 332-3-41-61-5-78-85, 

391-7-8-9, 401-3-14-27; ii., 200, 
. 339-46-54-8-65. 
Christ and Blind Man, by, i., 

Shillingsworth {A) of Nonsense, ii., 

Shottermill, Haslemere, i., 226. 

Sicily, i., 7. 

Siddal, Charles, i., 172; ii., 157. 

Siddal, Clara, i., 172, 224. 

Siddal, Elizabeth E. {see Rossetti). 

Siddal, Harry, i., 172, 255. 

Siddal, Mrs., i., 172. 

Siddal (Senior), 1., 172. 

Siddons, Mrs., i., 66, 67. 

Siesto, ii., 29, 224. 

Sintzenich, i., 89. 

Skelt's Theatrical Characters, i., 43. 

Skelton, James, i., 278, 438 ; ii., 178. 

Skipsey, Joseph, i., 358; ii., 362. 

Slowman, ii., 267. 

Sjnallwood's Magazine, i., 85. 

Smargiassi, i., 49. 

Smetham, James, i., 192-3, 351, 410, 

420-2-7 ; ii., 199, 200, 348-9-52. 

Letters by, i., 193. 

Smetham, Mrs., ii., 349. 

Smith, Alexander, i., 417-20; ii., 128. 

A Life Drama, by, i., 417. 

Smith, Bernhard, ii., 83, 1 17-8. 
Smith, Edward, ii., 117. 
Smith, Ellen, i., 242. 
Smith (Hastings), ii., 139. 
Smith & Elder, i., 216 ; ii., 266, 
Soho Bazaar, i., 39. 
Somerset, Duchess of, ii., 137-40. 
Somerset House, London, i., 70, TJ, 

170, 221 ; ii., 31, 171-3, 258-69, 318, 

Song of Solo7non, i., 238. 

Sonitette, La, du Diable, ii., 70. 

Sorelli, Guido, i., 47. 

Soulie's Memoires du Diable, i., 98 ; 

ii., 70. 
South Kensington Museum, ii., 287, 

Southampton, ii., 145. 
Spartali, Michael, i., 243-57. 
Spartali, Mrs., i., 257. 
Spartali {see Cahen and Stillman). 
Spectator, The (newspaper), i., 132, 

138-54-68, 294 ; ii., 90, 92, 93, 98, 

1 18-28-9-30. 
Spenser, Edmund, i., 425 ; ii., 12, 


Epithalamimtt, by, i., 425. 

Sperati, i., 49. 

Stanfield, Clarkson, i., 183. 

Stanhope, Spencer, i., 198. 

Steele, Dr., ii., 302. 

Stephens, Frederic G., i., 19, 121-2, 

131-2, 137 to 140, 157-66-9-72-94, 

329, 401 ; ii., 50, 60, 68, 70, 84, 86, 

120, 274-87-96, 348. 



Stephens, Frederic G., Dante G. 

Rossetti, by, i., 19, 94, 96, 119-24, 

Sterne's Tristram Shandy, i., loi. 
Stewart, Mr., ii., 99, 100. 
Stewart, Dr., i., 388 ; ii., 99. 
Stillman, Mrs. (Spartali), i,, 243-57, 

286-90, 364-83 ; ii., 344-5-53-4- 
Stillman, Ruskin, ii., 223. 
Stillman, William J., i., 286-7 > ii-i 

223-4-46-78-9, 393-4. 
Stobhall, Perthshire, i., 317-8; ii., 

Stokes, Whitley, i., 195 ; ii., 163-4, 

Stone, Frank, i., 147. 
Stofy-teller, The, i., 112. 
Stothard, Thomas, i., 30; ii., 281. 
Strahan & Co., i., 296. 
Strand, The, i., 70, 202. 
Strangeways, ii., 286. 
Stratford-on-Avon, i., 266 ; ii., 106, 

Stuart, Lady Dudley, i., 7. 
Sue, Eugene, i., loi. 

Barbe Bleue, by, ii., 23, 25. 

Le Jiiif Errant, by, i., loi ; ii., 

23. 25, 29. 

Mathilde, by, i., loi. 

Mysteres de Paris, by, i., loi. 

Sumner, Mrs., i,, 243, 338 ; ii., 334-5. 

Sunderland, ii., 361-2. 

Sussex, i., 337. 

Sussex Infirmary, ii., 126-9. 

Sutherland, Duke and Duchess of, 
i., no. 

Swedenborg, i., 64. 

Swinburne, Algernon C, i., 101-6, 
174-95-9, 210-5-21-2-3-7-8-9-31-4, 
236-78-95-7, 306-27-33-86, 402-16, 
426-31 ; ii., 171, 250, 386. 

Atalanta in Calydon, by, i., 236, 


Blake, Essay, by, i., 236; ii., 


Swinburne, Algernon C, Chastelard, 

by, i., 236. 
Poems and Ballads, by, i., 236, 

294; ii., 192. 
Queen Mother and Rosamund, 

by, i., 199, 210. 

— Rossetti s Poems, Review by, 
i., 106, 278-89, 382,431-9-40; ii., 

Villon, Translations from, i., 

Swinburne and William Rossetti, 

Royal Academy Pamphlet by, 

i., 270-1. 
Sydney, Australia, i., 170. 
Symonds, J. A., i., 440 ; ii., 279. 

Taine, i., 428. 

Tales of Chivalry, i., 82, io8. 

Tasso, ii., 24. 

Taylor, Sir Henry, i., 290 ; ii., 360. 

Philip van Artevelde, by, i., 

Taylor, John Edward, ii., 92, 93. 
Michelangelo a Poet, by, ii,, 

92, 276. 
Taylor (of Liverpool), ii., 140. 
Taylor, Peter, i., 338. 
Taylor, Tom, ii., 108, 361. 
Taylor, Warrington, i., 220. 
Tebbs, H. Virtue, i., 274, 325-61, 

402 ; ii.,-22o. 
Temple Bar (magazine), i., 156; 

ii., 362. 
Tennyson, i., 100-5-75-8-90-1-9,290, 

305-6-57, 434; ii., 65, 70, 142. 

Illustrated Edition of, i., 189. 

hi Memoiiatft, by, ii., 141, 212. 

Kraken {The), by, ii., 1 19-21. 

Maud, by, i., 190-1. 

Princess {The), by, i., 184. 

Teodorani Avvocato, i., 52. 
Thackeray, i., 48, loi, 216, 419; 

ii., 119-20. 



Thackeray, Bany Lyndon ^ by, i., 


— — Book of Snobs, by, i., loi. 

Estno?td, by, i., 230. 

Fitzboodle's Confessions, by, i., 


Paris Sketchbook, by, i., 10 1. 

Pende7inis, by, i., 48, loi. 

Thames, The, i., 133, 292-3; ii., 

Thames Embankment, London, i., 

229, 253. 
Thanet, Isle of, i., 390. 
Thomas (French Designer), ii., 28. 
Thomas, St., i., 148. 
Thomas, W. Cave, i., 15 1-2. 
Thompson, Mrs., ii., 287. 
Thompson, Thurston, ii., 287. 
Thoughts towards Nature, ii., 52. 
Thursfield, i., 198. 
Thynne, Lady Charles, ii., 32, 33. 
Thynne, Lord Charles, ii., 185-6-7. 
Times, The, i., 163-79, 282, 350-2, 

354-5 ; ii., 127-8-55, 219. 
Tinsley's Magazine, ii., 205. 
Tintoret, i., 207. 
Tissot, i., 263; ii., 180. 
Titchfield St. (Great), Marylebone, 

i-, 43- 
Titian, i., 75, 109-86, 237, 426-32; 

ii., 196, 281. 
Portrait of Francis /., by, ii., 

Tolstoy, Leopold de, i., 49. 
Tooley, Mrs., i., 138. 
Torrington Square, London, i., 23, 

24. 387 ; ii-, 341-3-50. 

Tottenham Court Road, i., 70, 97, 

Tottenham St., London, ii., 43. J 
Tour de Nesle (Romance), ii., 28. 
Trelawny, Edward J., ii., 323. 
Trench, Archbishop, On Proverbs, 

ii., 140. 
Trevelyan, Lady, ii,, 149. 


Trinity Church, Marylebone, i., 72. 
Trist, i., 247. 

Trowan, Crieff, i., 317-8-9; ii., 255. 
Trucchi's Dugento Poeti, ii., 276-7, 

Truro, i., 370; ii., 355. 
Tudor House, Chelsea, i., 227-9-30, 

234-6-54, 344-56-70-7- 
Tunbridge Wells, ii., 139. 
Tupper, Alexander, i., 153. 
Tupper, George, i., 151 ; ii., 50, 81, 

97, 98, iri-3- 
Tupper, John L., i., 151-94, 35 1; 

ii., 248. 
Death of The Germ, by, i., 


■ Garden of Ede7i, by, i., 151. 
Hiatus, by, i., 151. 
LinncEUS, Statue by, i., 196. 
Sketch from Nature, by, i., 


Subject in Art, by, i., 152. 

Tupper, Martin F., ii., 349. 
Tupper & Sons, i., 1 5 1-3. 
Turguenieff, i., 292 ; ii., 241. 
Turin, i., 35. 
Turner, J. M. W., i., 75, 182, 213, 

Turner, Mrs., ii., 235. 
Turner, W. A., i., 285, 325-53-64 I 

ii., 348. 
Tynemouth, ii,, 101-2-3. 


Uffington, ii., 262. 
Union Bank, London, ii., 194. 
United States, i., 50; ii., 49. 
University College, London, i., 45, 

87, 237. 
University St., Tottenham Court 

Road, i.. III. 
Upton, i., 202. 
Urrard, Perthshire, i., 317; ii., 





Valentine, Mrs. Laura, ii., 352-3. 
Valpy, L. R., i., 247-83, 350-63-70, 

373-83-91.400-2; ii., 351-89-94. 
Valvasone, Erasmo di, L'AngcIcida, 

by, i., 26. 
Van Eyck, ii., 62, 80. 
Varley, ii., 359. 
Zodiacal Physiognomy, by, ii., 

Vasari, ii., 275-7. 

Vasto, i., 4, 5, 17, 35, 391 ; ii., 123, 

248-80-2, 393. 
Vasto, Marchese del, i., 67. 
Velasquez, ii., 196, 281. 
Adoration of Shepherds, by, i., 


Philip IV., by, i., 258. 

Venetian Exhibition, London, i., 237. 

Venice, i., 54, 115, 237 ; ii., 194, 377. 

Ventnor, ii., 48, 49, 54, 60. 

Ventura, ii., 123. 

Vernet, Horace, ii., 29. 

Verona, i., 53 ; ii., 194. 

Vesuvius, ii., 308. 

Victor Emmanuel, i., 13. 

Victoria, Queen, i., jj, 163. 

Villon, Francois, i., 106-7. 

Vinci, Leonardo da, i., 127, 430; ii., 

62, 179. 

Clmst and St. John, by, ii., 281. 

The Virgin of the Rocks, by, 

ii., 210, 306. 
Vinter, J. A., i., 91, 92, 121. 
Virgil, i., 71 ; ii., 8. 
Virtue & Co., ii., 282. 
Von Hoist, Theodore, i., 117. 
Death of Lady MacbetJi, by, i., 


Faust and Mephistopheles in 

the Wine Cellar, by, i., 117. 

Lord Lyttelton and the Ghost, 

by, i., 117. 

Voyage oil il vo7/s plaira, ii., 23, 25, 


Waddington's Sonnet-book, ii., 365. 
Wales, Prince of, i., 73. 
Wallace, William, ii., 276. 
Wallis, Henry, i., 187, 213. 
Walpole, Horace, ii., 6. 

Castle of Oti-anto, by, ii., 6. 

Letters of, ii., 321-3-36. 

Waltham Cross, ii., 178, ^ 

Waltheof, Miss, i., 45. 

Ward, Lock, & Co., ii., 348. 

Ware, Charley, i., 89, 90. 

Warren, Henry, ii., 9. 

Warren's Ten Thousand a Year, ii., 

II, 15. 
Warwick, i., 266; ii., 106-91. 
Warwickshire, ii., 106. 
Waterford, Marchioness of, i., 166 ; 

ii., 137-40-97. 
Waterloo, ii., ']'] , 78, 80. 
Waterloo Place, London, i., 204 ; 

ii., 150. 
Watkins, T., i., 121. 
Watson, William, i., 358 ; ii., 359. 
The Prince's Quest, by, ii., 

Watteau, ii., 275-6. 
Wattez, i., 73. 
Watts, George F., i., 348-9; ii , 14. 

Ca7-actacus, by, ii., 13, 14. 

Portrait of Rossetti, by, i., 348, 

Watts, Theodore, i., ix., 108, 220-85, 

322-3-35-6-7-9-41 -54-8-61-4-7-8 -9, 
374-8-84-5-91, 394 to 397, 399, 
401-16-32; ii., 261, 315-24-5-58, 
Recollections of Christina Ros- 
setti, by, i., 340. 

The Truth about Rossetti, by. 

i., 408. 
Webb, Philip, i., 217-20-48, 347; ii., 

Webster, John, i., 97. 
Wellington, Duke of, i., 93 ; ii., 29. 



Wells, Charles, i., loo, 290; ii., 49, 

51, 54, 55- 
Joseph and his Brethren^ by, 

i., loi ; ii., 39, 40, 54, 70. 

Stories after Natttre, by, i., 100; 


ii., 39, 40, 45, 70. 

Wells, H. T., i., 212. 
Wells, Mrs. H. T., i., 212. 
Wells St. Church, London, ii., 97, 98. 
West, Christ healing the Sick, by, 

i., 63. 
Westall, Richard, i., 61, JJ. 
Westall, William, i., JJ. 
W^estcliff Bungalow {see Rossetti). 
Westcliff Hotel, Birchington, i., 394. 
Westgate-on-Sea, ii., 392. 
Westminster Bridge, i., 89. 
Westminster Hall Cartoon Exhibi- 
tions, i., 92, 93; ii., 12, 13. 
Wetheral, Carlisle, ii., 105. 
Wharton (family), i., 30. 
Whistler, J. A. M., i., 237-54-63; 

ii., 179-80. 
Whitehead's novel, Richard Savage, 

i., loi. 
Whitman, Walt, ii., 332-48-9. 
Leaves of Grass and Two 

Rivulets, by, ii., 332. 
Wicklow, Earl of, i., 99 ; ii., 3. 
Wiertz, i., 393, 414. 
Wight, Isle of, i., 150; ii., 41, 54, 

60, 333- 
Wilding, Miss Alexa, i., 241 to 244 ; 

ii., 2^9-96, 320. 
Wilkie, Sir David, i., 187 ; ii., 108. 
Wilkinson, Dr. Garth, i., 177 ; ii., 

William IV., i., 69. 
Wilhams (jobbing man), ii., 116-7, 

WilUams, Dr. Llewellyn, i., 274; ii., 

Williams, W. Smith, ii., 49, 51, 70. 
Willoughby, i., ']']. 
Wiltshire, i., 323. 

Winchelsea, ii., 189-90-1. 
Windus, i., 200-13 \ "•, 145-6- 

Burd Helen, by, ii., 145-6. 

Wolf, Joseph, i., 166. 

Wolverhampton, i., 395. 

Wood, John, i., 45. 

Wood, Mrs. (Charlotte Street), ii,, 

23, 24. 
Wood, Mrs. Esther, Rossetti and 

the Prceraphaelite Movemeiit, by, 

i-, 91. 92, 135-65-6, 337-62, 435. 
Woodside (near Carlisle), ii., 202. 
Woodward, Benjamin, i., 195-6, 422; 

ii., 143. 
Woolner, Thomas, i., 121-31-2-3-8, 

139-40-50-2-63-5-90-4, 259-60, 333; 

ii., 40, 49, 52, 53, 55, 60, 61, 63, 

68, 81, 83, 95, 1 16-7-8-20-37-46, 

192, 276. 

Bacon, Statue by, i., 196. 

My Beautiful Lady and My 

Lady in Death, by, i., 152 ; ii., 52, 

Wordsworth, i., 75, 358, 410-5-21-33 ; 

ii-, 53> 328-30. 
Working Men's College, The, i., 194, 

221; ii., 1 36-7-9-40-5 1. 
World, The (newspaper), i., 354. 
Wrather (family), i., 30. 
Wray, i., ^T . 

Wreay, near Carlisle, ii., 202. 
Wright of Derby, his own Portrau, 

ii., 169-70. 


Yarborough, Earl of, i., 31. 
Young Pretender, The, i., 25. 
Young Woman, The (magazine), i., 

ZooLOGicAL Gardens, The, i., 38 ; 

ii., 219. 
Zucchero, ii., 277-8. 




38 Arlington Street, ii., 107-12. 

Birchington-on-Sea, ii., 392-3-4-5. 
Bognor (Aldwick Lodge), ii., 319, 

320- 1 -2-3-4-6-7-9-30- 1 -2. 
Boulogne, ii., 20, 22, 23, 26, 27, 30, 

Broadlands, Ronisey, ii., 333-4. 
Brussels, ii., 79. 

Chalfont-St.-Giles, ii., 5. 

50 Charlotte Street, ii., 3, 4, 7, 10, 
12, 16, 33, 34, 35, 37, 38, 39, 41, 
43. 45, 47, 49- 52, 55- 82, 84, 97. 

14 Chatham Place, ii., 98, 99, 100, 
109-10-5-7-9-24-5-32-4 -6-7 -8-43, 

16 Cheyne Walk, ii., 172-3-4-6-7, 
1 8 1-4-5-6-7-92-3-4-5-9, 200- 1 -20- 1, 
222-7-8-9-30- 1 -2-3-49, 3 1 2-3-4-5-6, 
3 1 7-8-36-7-8-9-40- 2 -3-7 -8-9 -50 - 1 , 
368-9-70-1-2-3-5-6-7-9-80-1 ~2 -4- 5, 

Downshire Hill, Hampstead, ii., 

FiNCHLEY, ii., 135. 

Fisher Place, Vale of St. John, 
Keswick, ii., 387-8-9-90. 

Hastings, ii., 126-7-9-3 1-53-4-5. 
Hunter's Forestall, Heme Bay, ii., 

Kelmscott, ii,, 234-6-7-8-40-3-5-7-8, 
276-7-8-80-2-3- 6-7-9-90-1-3 -4-6-9, 
300- 1 -2-3-6-7-8-9- 1 0-2. 

Lincoln's Inn Fields, ii,, 170. 
Lymington, ii., 193. 

Matlock, ii., 147. 

Newcastle-on-Tyne, |ii., 101-2-3-4, 

Newman Street, ii., 83, 90, 91, 92, 

93, 94, 95- 

Oxford, ii., 147-8. 

Paris, ii., 56, 63, 155-7-78-9. 
Penkill Castle, Girvan, ii., 196-7-8, 
202-4-5-6-7-1 1-3-4. 

Red Lion Square, ii., 87. 

ScALANDS, Robertsbridge, ii., 130, 

Sevenoaks, ii., 85. 
Simpson's Divan, London, ii., 171. 
Stratford-on-Avon, ii., 106. 

Tenterden, ii., 189. 

Trowan, Crieff, ii., 252-4-5-6-8. 

Urrard House, Perthshire, ii., 

WOODBANK, BiNGLEY, ii., 169.